The Brotherhood of Battle
by Reilly.216
Summary: Jake 'Ace' Lincoln is a Grunt in the IMC army, but is recognised for his talents and promoted to a Pilot after a mission gone wrong. Serving in Hazard Squad, Jake is immersed in a side of the war he never expected to experience. Soon, he is faced with a difficult choice, do the right thing and betray his friends, or fight for a corrupt army of mercenaries and killers?
1. Prologue

The Brotherhood of Battle:

Prologue:

"The outpost went dark about four hours ago. There've been reports of Militia activity in the area, but we haven't received anything solid. We don't know who or what could've done this, but we must proceed with caution. Everyone understand?" The soldier with a bushy beard and intense voice barked to his squad in the bay of the dropship.

The other four soldiers nodded, giving murmured acknowledgements in turn. They stood patiently on the metal grates on the floor of the dropship, ready to disembark at a moment's notice. The group did a few last-minute checks of their weapons and equipment to make sure they had everything they needed for the operation. Despite the knowledge that this would likely only be a reconnaissance mission, the squad had come prepared to take on nothing short of a small army. Rifles, grenades, satchel charges – the lot. It was strange that command would allow the group of marines, mere grunts in the IMC arsenal, to use the ordinance, but Lincoln wasn't about to complain.

"Remember, this is a recon-op only. We're here to investigate the aftermath. We still aren't sure what happened, but that's what we're here to find out." Sergeant Price announced to the members of Goblin Squad, who stared at their commanding officer with intense stares and firm grips on their weapons.

"Landing in T-Minus 30 seconds. Get ready, Goblin." The shuttle pilot called out to the five men standing in the drop-bay.

Rifleman Jake Lincoln ejected the magazine of his C.A.R. SMG one last time, checking that the motion was fluid and smooth. He hoisted up the rifle and squinted down the HCOG sights, making sure the barrel was correctly aligned. He breathed out a heavy sigh as he braced himself for the deceleration. He was ready.

"Landing in five, four, three, two, one!" The pilot counted down, her shouting coupled with the high-pitched whine of the shuttle engines coming to a halt above the ground. The ramp descended onto the outside world, the rain and the night sky coming into their vision. "Go, go, go!"

Goblin Squad rushed out of the dropship, setting up in a practised procedure. Making contact with the ground and dropping to one knee as they swept the immediate vicinity, with eyes squinted and rifles raised. As soon as all five men disembarked, the ramp raised to its original position and the pilot flew off again, ready for a hot extraction if it was required.

The pitter-patter of the drops of rain falling on top of Lincoln's helmet reassured him somehow, that this was happening. This was real. It was time to get his head in the game and focus on completing the mission and getting home, safe and sound with the rest of his squad.

"Sound off." Sergeant Price ordered, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Mallory, checking in." A voice to Jake's right spoke.

"Devon, checking in." Another announced at the same volume as Price.

"Lincoln, checking in." Jake said aloud.

"Ramirez, checking in." The last voice spoke to the rest of the squad, this one with a slight Spanish tinge to it.

"Alright, Goblin. Let's move out." Price ordered, raising himself to his knees, still keeping his rifle up as he proceeded towards the IMC complex roughly five-hundred feet away. The rest of Goblin Squad followed suit, keeping in a tight formation, sweeping the perimeter as they continued towards the collection of buildings.

Passing through the first entrance, Jake peeked around the doorway and did a quick scan of the room. Nothing, they were alone. The ceiling strip-lights were off, occasionally fizzling and sparking into life, only to return to their previous state moments later. The intermittent illumination offered brief glances at the room around Goblin Squad. Papers were still in order and waiting to be organised, hot beverages were unattended, abandoned and left to grow cold. Private Lincoln shuddered from nerves, as he flicked on the flashlight fitted to the under barrel of his gun.

"Looks like nobody's home..." Sergeant Price mused as he crept forward toward the next room, his EVA-8 shotgun at the ready.

"Like they all just got up and left." Mallory observed. "Weird."

Lincoln nodded absentmindedly, it was strange. As if they'd all just abandoned whatever they were doing and had disappeared into thin air. It was creepy, and it sent shivers up Jake's spine whenever he thought about what might have happened to the soldiers and scientists that had been stationed at this outpost.

"Move out. We have to find out what happened here." Price ordered. "Mallory, Devon - with me. We'll clear out the west side of the compound. Ramirez and Lincoln, you two search the east section. We'll meet in the southern section in an hour. Keep in radio contact."

Ramirez and Lincoln nodded, whispering muted acknowledgements, and proceeded to break left and proceed deeper into the outpost, whilst Price and his team went in a different direction. After a few minutes of searching and combing through the silent IMC station, Ramirez exhaled heavily and asked Lincoln to stop.

"Hang on, Jake, I don't like this." He told Lincoln, fear clear in his eyes.

"Neither do I, James, but we have our orders. The sooner we finish, the sooner we get out of here, okay?" Lincoln said, doing a once-over of his gun before he patted his squad-mate on the shoulder, trying to reassure his friend.

Ramirez nodded and swallowed a lump in his throat. Sweating profusely, he held his rifle at the ready as he entered the next room, his flashlight sweeping the room.

"Ugh, what is that smell?" Lincoln commented, wrinkling his nose. The scent was like something he could only describe as putrid, like rotting meat and gunsmoke, mixed together into a freaky fusion.

"Uh, Jake, I think you should come take a look at this..." Ramirez spoke. Lincoln entered the room his squad-mate was in, a living quarters. Military mattresses were laid out into bunk bed patterns, and there were several wardrobes and desks scattered around. A footlocker was situated at the foot of every bed.

Lincoln sighed as he came to stand next to his friend, but his relative boredom with their mission so far was quickly replaced by intense disgust as he laid eyes upon the gruesome sight that was displayed before him.

A body. A male, in his late thirties, maybe. His eyes were glass marbles and his mouth hung open in a last expression of terror. The look of fear was etched onto his features, and would stay there forever now. His throat was slit, a wide laceration cut into his throat, gore and blood dripping out of it in a steady stream. Bugs had already began to land on his body, and decomposition would take hold soon enough.

Jake sneered in disgust at the image, and turned away as he keyed his communicator into Goblin's shared frequency.

"Sir, we've discovered a body. It's one of the scientists." Jake whispered, aware of his surroundings more than ever.

"Copy that, Private. Can you identify the cause of death? Was it the Militia?" Price asked.

"No signs of a struggle, but his throat's been slit. This was deliberate, sir. I couldn't say that it was the M-COR for certain, but that seems highly likely." Lincoln reported, casting a wary glance over to Ramirez, who shrugged.

"Damn terrorists." He heard Price mutter. "Lincoln, see if you can find anything useful that might tell us what the Militia were doing here. There must have been a reason that the facility was attacked. The M-COR doesn't just attack at random."

Lincoln nodded, knowing that there was no point in the gesture, seeing as Price wouldn't know he had nodded. He cleared his throat and made a hand signal at Ramirez to keep moving forward. His squad-mate nodded and walked on though the room.

"And be careful, boys. There's no telling whether the ones who did this are still here or not. Price out." The rugged voice of his commanding officer spoke.

"Copy that, sir. We'll be careful." Lincoln replied before cutting the line.

He turned to follow the path Ramirez had taken, stepping over the remains of the IMC scientist as he went. Poor bastard. He deserved a proper burial, and his family would have to be notified. But Jake had a mission to uphold, an objective to complete. And a few dead bodies weren't going to stand in the way of that fact.

"Find anything, Ramirez?" Lincoln asked, as he wandered through the door to the next room. A computer suite. No reply came, and after a moment of quiet, Jake flicked up his C.A.R. to scan the room, his flashlight casting light wherever it pointed.

"Ramirez?" Jake whispered, worry creeping into his voice. "This ain't a good time for your games, buddy." Lincoln felt panic beginning to rise in his chest. "C'mon, man. Quit fucking around. Ramirez!" Jake said, a little louder.

Then he heard it, a soft gurgling to his left. A low moan came soon after, and Jake snapped his weapon to look at the source of the disturbance. A smaller room, connected to the computer suite. It was pitch black in there, but it was large enough to fit a small car inside. No telling what could be hiding in there, Jake thought, as he crept closer to the open door.

"Ramirez? You in there, buddy?" Lincoln asked the gloom of the smaller room. Another gurgle, definitely coming from inside. Jake swallowed nervously, pointing his torch directly into the darkness.

What he saw would haunt him, and was etched - burned - into his brain. Ramirez, holding his neck desperately. Choking as if he were drinking water but couldn't swallow. And there was a man, standing behind his friend, clad head-to-toe in orange and green tinted armour. The mysterious figure had a knife embedded in his friend's neck, and removed it as soon as he saw Jake, taking hold of Ramirez's head - and spinning it suddenly so it faced the wrong direction. There was a sickening crack, and Ramirez's lifeless body fell to the ground with a loud 'thump' sound.

"Oh, shit." Was all Jake managed to say before the mysterious figure leapt up and into the overhead vent in the smaller room. Lincoln fired off some rounds, but knew there was no point. Price's voice quickly flooded the speaker in his helmet.

"What the fuck, Lincoln?! Why are you shoo-"

"We've got enemy contacts. It's the Militia!" Jake cut the Sergeant off mid-sentence. "Ramirez is down! He's fucking dead!" He shouted in panic.

"Get a grip, Private! You need to get out of there, now!" Price yelled through the headset. "Oh, shit! Contacts!" Price suddenly closed the channel, gunfire echoing from somewhere in the complex.

Lincoln turned on his heel, sprinting towards the sound of conflict as fast as his legs would carry him. Breathing hard, he made his way back to the entry point where Goblin had entered from and continued to run towards Sergeant Price's location. The gunshots he had heard echoing throughout the complex had ceased, and soon enough Jake reached the rest of Goblin's location. Only to find his three comrades gunned down and left to die. Mallory and Dover had already expired, their chests still and their eyes staring off into the distance, lifeless.

Price sat against a wall, blood leaking from several bullet-wounds in his chest. His shotgun was aimed at Jake, who held up his hands as a way of surrendering. Price dropped the weapon after a moment and Jake ran to his superior's side, studying the damage and pulling out a field med-kit. Price just put the equipment down and shook his head, he knew it was too late to save him.

"What happened, sir? What did they-" Lincoln began. Price coughed, hard. His breathing was ragged and shallow; Jake could tell that the Sergeant didn't have long.

"The Militia..." He whispered, trying to form words. "Pilots... They ambushed us. Wounded one of 'em. Get…" Price wheezed his words, "…out of here..."

Suddenly, the Sergeant went limp and he exhaled a long sigh. Jake clenched his jaw and looked at the floor, a pang of despair in his chest. He was the only one left. He'd kill these bastards, if it was the last thing he'd do. The fallen members of Goblin Squad deserved that much at least. Walking away from the site of the battle, Jake returned to the entrance to the complex, radioing in for the dropship that had got them here to return - he had to leave, now.

"Echo two-seventeen, do you read? I need an _immediate_ extraction from the mission zone ASAP." Jake spoke into his microphone, waiting for a response to come from the white noise and crackling of his comm-unit,

"Roger that. Echo two-seventeen, on approach to extraction zone. ETA seventy seconds. Stand by." A female voice replied after a few moments of tense silence.

After about a minute of waiting in the rain, Jake could start to make out the high-pitched whining of the dropships engines coming into earshot. After a few more moments, the IMC jumpship came into visual range and began to decelerate to extract its only passenger from the mission zone. Suddenly, a loud boom came directly to Lincoln's left, and a missile zipped its way towards the incoming aircraft.

Jake cast his gaze to the source of the shot, and widened his eyes in fear when he saw an Ogre Heavy-Class Titan painted in the colours of the Militia, orange and green, wielding an enormous chaingun, pointed directly at the approaching dropship. The missile missed the aircraft, fortunately, but soon the Titan unloaded the contents of its weapon on the vehicle. Dozens of over-sized bullets fired in a constant volley at the jumpship's right-wing, crippling the ship. Another rocket was fired from the Ogre's shoulder-mounted launcher, and zipped directly into the engine of the ship, exploding and making the aircraft spin wildly out of control and crash on the ground, engulfed in a fiery explosion.

Jake shielded his eyes against the bright explosion with his arm, grimacing as he thought of the female pilot who laid dead in the burning wreckage somewhere. He directed his gaze to the Ogre standing nearby. It appeared that the Titan hadn't seen him yet, but Lincoln knew that could change at any moment. Retreating back into the complex, the IMC soldier traced his path back to the computer suite, and into the smaller room he had witnessed Ramirez get killed in. His squad-mate's body was still lying there, a pool of blood formed around it. The face staring up at the ceiling in a last expression of agony, the head twisted around to face the wrong direction. Jake bent down and placed a hand on his friend's neck, searching for his chain. Finding what he was looking for, Lincoln ripped the dog-tags from Ramirez's luke-warm body, stuffing them in a pouch on his belt. He patted the man's body and closed his eyelids, so they didn't stare into nothing.

"Rest now, brother. Your mission is at an end." Jake spoke softly to the body. He sighed and stood up.

Stepping over his dead friend, Jake approached a terminal at the back of the small room, the backlit screen glowing in the gloom. A transmission terminal, Jake observed. Perfect, it was just what he needed if he had any hope of escaping the clutches of the M-COR Pilots that were no doubt scouring the base searching for him. Setting the transmission frequency to the IMC emergency broadcast channel, he spoke into it his S.O.S., letting the message loop after he had finished speaking.

"Mayday, mayday, mayday. IMC Goblin Squad has been attacked by insurgent Militia forces. We have multiple casualties, and our evac bird's been shot down. We are in need of _immediate_ assistance from any nearby IMC forces. Say again." Jake spoke into the terminal microphone, clearly and plainly, making sure to enunciate every word, so anyone picking up the transmission would hear his plea for aid with clarity. He pushed a few buttons on the terminal; he set the message to repeat itself on the IMC channel. He sighed, it was all he could do for now.

Lincoln hummed as he backed away from the console, spinning to look at the doorway to the room. Exiting, he slowly made his way back to where Sergeant Price had been killed. He still had a mission to complete, and he had to collect their tags. He wouldn't let the Militia deny them that honour. Making his way quickly and quietly through the complex, Jake stumbled across more dead bodies of deceased scientists and soldiers he didn't know. They all either had slit throats or bullet wounds to the head. Many of the soldiers weren't even in their combat gear or wielding weapons. The Pilots must have struck fast and hard, not taking any prisoners.

Jake felt himself get angrier every time he saw another body. Another son that a mother would never see again. Another lover that a widow would never hold again. Some of the bodies could've been fathers or mothers for all he knew, waiting to see their child again after their deployment had finished. The personnel here had probably felt safe on this base, an insignificant IMC complex in the middle of nowhere on some backwater Frontier planet. They might've thought that it would be a simple tour of duty, and they'd avoid the conflict. They probably didn't want to find trouble, but trouble had found them.

Whatever the M-COR wanted with this base, they weren't afraid to use any means necessary. Even if that meant killing harmless, defenceless IMC scientists. They were practically civilians, for fuck's sake. This was nothing short of savagery on the Militia's behalf.

Arriving at the death place of the majority of Goblin Squad, Jake knelt down next to each of his comrades, tearing the dog-tags from their necks and stuffing them in his pouch. The rain seemed to have gotten worse, and Lincoln could hear the Ogre striding around outside, keeping a watchful eye on the perimeter.

Jake knew he couldn't risk escaping into the jungles of the region, with the Titan guarding the outside of the complex. And the Pilots could move much faster than he could run. No, his best chance was to find somewhere to hide and hope that the Militia didn't discover him. Hope that the IMC reinforcements would arrive soon, and save him. If there were even any reinforcements coming.

Lincoln swallowed nervously as he searched for a quiet room to hide for a while. It was unnerving, hearing the Pilot footsteps from seemingly all around him. He wondered how many there were, Price had made it sound like there were several. He knew there was at least one Pilot here. The one that he saw murder Ramirez in cold blood, possibly the one tied to the Ogre outside.

Looking down at the floor, Jake saw something glint in the light of his torch. It looked like a kind of liquid. Creasing his brow, Lincoln stooped and placed a gloved finger in the substance. Bringing it up to his eye, he rubbed it with his thumb, testing the consistency.

It was _blood_.

But there weren't any bodies around. And this blood was wet, still fresh. The blood of the staff that had been killed by the Militia was beginning to dry, and his squad hadn't come this far before they were gunned down.

Then suddenly, Jake recalled something Price had said to him just before he died; _"Pilots ambushed us. Wounded one of 'em."_ Jake's eyes widened in realisation; this was Pilot blood, and it was _fresh_.

Lincoln shot up and hoisted his weapon back up to his shoulder, frantically scanning the corridor he searched for any sign of the wounded Pilot. Jake's shallow breathing sounded loud against the relative quiet of the complex, aside from the pitter-patter of rain on the roof and the dull thumps of the Ogre's footfalls outside. Lincoln's eyes squinted to make out anything in the darkness, hoping to see the Pilot before it saw him. Jake hoped he wouldn't die today, he hoped it wasn't his time.

Treading carefully, he slowly made his way towards the nearest doorway to get out of the corridor and hopefully out of harm's way. Even if a Pilot was wounded, they were still very dangerous and Jake wasn't about to chance his luck. Maybe if he had the element of surprise, he'd be able to eliminate the threat before it killed him. He didn't have any plans to die here on this backwater planet. No, Jake had always planned on going out with a bang, if he was destined to die in battle.

All that was left to do now was hunker down and wait for the IMC to come and rescue him from the Militia. Lincoln hoped they wouldn't take too long, he didn't want to be stuck on an abandoned IMC base with a bunch of good-for-nothing terrorists for any longer than he had to be. Retreating to the darkest corner of the room, Jake sat down and aimed his gun at the doorway. If any M-COR bastard walked through, they'd get a nasty surprise - that was certain.

After a few minutes of quiet, Jake realised that his breathing had levelled out; his body having had time to recover from the shock of seeing the jumpship go down in flames and the Ogre shooting it down. So why could he still hear a quiet panting? Then Jake heard it; a groan. It was one of pain. Definitely human, and from the tone of the groan, it sounded male.

Had he just unknowingly sat down in a room with a Pilot? A _Militia_ Pilot?

Jake heard a radio keying into a broadcast frequency, linking to an outsourced connection. Lincoln's eyes widened in fear and realisation, his hand flew up and clamped to his mouth to stop him from making any noise. In the darkness, he could just about make out the dull glow of the Pilot's lights on his armour at the far end of the room.

 _Oh, shit._

"Command, this is Urban." A gruff voice began; it was quiet and sounded like it was in pain. "I have the information you requested, Sarah. We ran into some trouble with an IMC Grunt task-force, nothing we couldn't handle."

 _Oh, shit. Oh, fuck._

"One of them got a lucky shot in though - hit me in the leg with his shotgun." A grunt of pain, followed by a sigh. "It's riddled with buckshot, I can't move. I'm transmitting the co-ordinates to you now; make sure you get them to Bish. He'll be able to decrypt them." The voice spoke, apparently completely oblivious to Lincoln's presence. "There's still one more IMC Grunt running around here somewhere, but I'm sure Ward and Redding can handle it."

 _Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. Oh, shit._

"Don't worry, Sarah, you'll see me soon." A pause. "It's _one_ Grunt, what's he going to do on his own? By the time the IMC gets here in force, we'll be long gone." He laughed, then groaned with the pain of doing so. "That's right; we won't even give them the tail-lights. Oh, and thanks for the Titan. That Ogre you sent us is doing a fine job of guarding the perimeter. Shot down a dropship about ten minutes ago. Not sure what it was doing there, but it's destroyed now."

Anger began to boil in Jake's chest, seething at the Pilot's lack of care that he had killed an innocent IMC pilot. He'd make him pay for that. He'd make him pay for killing his friends. Blood must have blood.

Moving as quietly as he could manage, Jake put down his C.A.R. SMG on the ground and drew his Hammond P2011 from the holster on his thigh, as he stood up, pressing his back against the wall, moving slowly and carefully so that he wouldn't make any noise as he drew closer to the Pilot. He stared at the man, who was still completely unaware of the IMC soldier and his intentions. Lincoln briefly wondered that the gunshot would draw the attention of the two other Pilots that Urban had mentioned, but at that moment in time, all Jake could think about was getting his revenge and exacting justice upon this Pilot for killing Goblin Squad.

"Don't worry, Sarah. I'll see you soon. Terminating transmission." The Pilot spoke, sighing heavily after ending the communication.

A light in the corridor Jake had just entered from fizzed and sparked, momentarily casting light on a portion of the room, directly on Urban and the approaching form of Lincoln. The sparking only lasted for a heartbeat, but it was enough, Jake could clearly see the Pilot and he brought up his Hammond P2011 to aim it at his head.

Everything that happened next seemed to proceed in slow motion for Jake. The Militia Pilot tensed up and turned his head to look at Lincoln, the IMC Grunt who was aiming his sidearm at his head. He attempted to move his hands to grab his suppressed R101-C Carbine, but it was far too late for that. Jake gritted his teeth and set his jaw as he squeezed the match trigger of his gun, sending a bullet flying out of the barrel and into the Pilot's head with a loud bang.

The Pilot's helmet visor cracked under the force and the bullet flew straight through his skull, snapping his head back to hit the wall he was propped against, brain matter and gore spreading out in a star-burst pattern on the wall behind him. The Pilot's body went limp almost instantly and flopped to the side, falling and landing on the ground, hard. The blue backlight of his helmet flickered and died, followed by the rest of the dots of light scattered all over his armour.

Jake quickly knelt next to the dead M-COR Pilot, placing a hand on his neck, checking for a pulse, to make sure he was truly dead. Jake swallowed a nervous lump in his throat and sat down next to Pilot, mentally exhausted from the execution. He ripped the Pilots dog-tags from his neck and stared at them; _'2_ _nd_ _Lt. Edward Urban, 99_ _th_ _Marauder Corps, Pilot Division'_. They had a few droplets of blood on them, making the affair that much more grim. Lincoln creased his brow as he placed the tags into his spare pouch, with the rest of Goblin's dog-tags in it.

Jake snapped up to his feet as he heard noise coming from the complex, no doubt the other two Militia Pilots coming to investigate the gunshot. Lincoln didn't have much time. Thinking fast, he yanked the dead Pilot's helmet from his head, quickly plunged his hand inside to search for what needed to complete his mission then threw it away, making an attempt to try and reach his C.A.R. SMG before the Pilots reached him.

Before he could reach the weapon, however, Jake was pushed to the ground, losing his footing, and landing on his stomach. The air was stolen out of his lungs, winded by the impact. He grunted, gasping desperately for air. He tried to stand up, but he was forced back down to the ground, but he couldn't see anyone there. In a last ditch effort to retaliate, he reached out his right hand to try and take his SMG, but suddenly, his wrist was stamped on with incredible force and Jake cried out in pain.

A figure flickered into his view, deactivating the cloaking device that had hidden them from sight. Another Militia Pilot, their foot planted solidly on Lincoln's wrist, punching down with more pressure as time went on. In the few moments that Jake looked at the Pilot, he could see that they were not a rifleman like him; instead they wielded a sniper-rifle, a Longbow-DMR. Jake found the barrel of a B3 Wingman aiming directly at his face.

"This is for Ed, you IMC piece-of-shit." The Pilot growled.

Without pausing to think, Jake pushed his entire body forward, offsetting the Pilot, whose balance was momentarily thrown off due to his foot being planted so firmly on Jake's arm. The sudden move had enough of an effect to make the Sniper's Wingman misfire into the ground next to Lincoln's face, the bullet wedging itself directly next to his head in the insta-crete floor. The boom of the shot reverberated around the room, deafening the Grunt, but he didn't stop for a second, knowing that he had to survive, to get justice for the deaths of his squad.

Launching himself to his feet, Jake sent an uppercut straight into the Pilot's chin, knocking him back. In another moment, Lincoln drew out a knife he had lodged in his boot, holding it at an angle towards the reeling Pilot. He ran at the man, tackling him to ground and attempting to push the knife in the M-COR Pilot's neck. He struggled to remain on top of the man, and Jake put as much of his weight onto the knife as he could, pushing it down onto the Pilot for all he was worth.

It was slow progress, but the blade eventually pushed itself closer and closer to the Militia soldier's throat, no more than an inch from its target. The Pilot struggled and pushed Jake's hands away with as much strength as he could muster in his compromised position, using his legs to try and kick him off. With a shout of rage and effort, Jake used the last of his strength to push himself down onto the Pilot, and the blade sank through the man's scarf, embedding itself deep into its new fleshy sheath.

The Militia Pilot gurgled on his own blood as Jake rolled off his writhing form, panting from the effort. It sounded horrific to the Grunt, but Jake had always known that war was a messy business, and he was prepared to do anything to ensure his survival and the destruction of his enemies. However, he knew that it was mostly luck that he had succeeded in killing not one, but two highly trained Militia Pilots.

After a minute, he saw that the Pilot had stopped writhing and a small pool of blood had formed underneath him and his scarf was soaked with the man's own blood from the knife-wound in his neck. Grunting, Jake sat up and leant over to remove the knife from the Pilot's throat with a wet sucking sound, bringing the man's dog-tags with the blade. Like he had done with Urban's, Jake examined the identity of the man he had just killed.

' _S. Sgt Jason Ward, 99th Marauder Corps, Pilot Division'_

Jake looked at the man's armour, studying how it was slightly different to the other Pilot's plating. He had some green camouflage netting on his upper half and long insulated boots that went up to his knees. He didn't have as much armour-plating as the Rifleman, Urban, but he still had considerably more protection than an average Grunt like Jake. The orange and green pattern consistent with all Militia corps was apparent on his armour as well, and Jake briefly wondered where the third Pilot was. Then he remembered the Ogre that was outside that had shot down the jumpship. The shot it had made with its missile had been too accurate for a Titan OS to make, that could only have been Pilot skill at work when those shots were fired.

Jake looked around the room, observing the two dead bodies as if he was seeing them for the first time. He cast a gaze over to the first Pilot he had shot, Edward Urban, in a crumpled heap on the floor, his helmet discarded next to him. Jake looked into his palm, and saw the chip he had removed from the helmet sat there neatly. The chip had the information that the Pilot would have stolen from the facility stored on it, along with other information. A black box of sorts. He put the chip in a pocket on his trouser leg, zipping it to keep the item safe.

Stooping to pick up the second Pilot's sidearm – the B3 Wingman - as he left the room, Lincoln began to make his way back to the entrance that Goblin Squad had entered from, hoping to see IMC reinforcements arrived and ready to rescue him. Venturing out into the pouring rain, Jake looked up into the skies of the northern hemisphere of the backwater planet. Jake tried to make out the orange afterburners of a rescue shuttle that was no doubt on its way. But he couldn't see anything yet, so Jake turned to retreat back into the shelter of the IMC outpost, out of the way of any possible encounters with the patrolling Titan.

Jake turned back to head back to the entrance, only to be confronted by the hulking metal mass of the Ogre Titan, pointing its chaingun directly at the Grunt. Lincoln exclaimed in fear, dropping his SMG on the wet ground and diving to the side as a hurl of oversized Titan bullets flew out of the barrel, directly into where he'd been standing moments earlier. He was still knocked off of his feet by the impact though, and Jake was roughly picked up by the Ogre and thrown so he skidded on the wet floor of the landing zone of the outpost.

He groaned in pain, instinctively curling up into a foetal position to try and feel safe in the pouring rain and the inevitability of his death at the hands of the Ogre. A large metal hand flipped Jake onto his back, the Ogre aiming the gun at Jake's head with its spare arm. Lincoln struggled against the steel fingers, but he knew it was no good.

 _So much for going out with a bang_ , Jake thought, waiting for death to claim him.

Suddenly, a loud whooshing sound drew the attention of both the Grunt and the Ogre, and both looked up into the night sky to see several IMC jumpships appearing in the blink of tell-tale white light. Jake couldn't help but grin as he turned to face the Ogre who released Jake and stood up, the Pilot inside no doubt knowing to turn his attention to the oncoming dropships rather than execute a single Grunt.

"Cavalry's here." Jake muttered happily as the Titan opened fire on the first dropship unlucky enough to come into its crosshairs.

Jake heard the soundwave breaking several times as multiple IMC Titans fell from sub-orbit, eight in all, Pilots in every one of them. Lincoln couldn't make out the carrier they had launched from due to the rain clouds of the overcast sky, and so they appeared to drop from the heavens like angels falling from the sky to save his life.

The bullets spewing from the Militia Titan's chain-gun were simply redirected by the shields of the drop-ships coming to a standstill, apparently it hadn't noticed the IMC Titanfall. The ground shook as each Titan finished its fall and crashed onto the world below. Stryder's, Ogre's and Atlas' all slammed into the hard earth, standing moments later to approach the single Militia Ogre. The chorus of Titan weapons firing their hail of bullets and rockets directly into the Militia Titan. Jake almost felt sorry for it, being shot to pieces by a slew of ammunition. He groaned, trying to move away from the battle, but didn't get very far. A few of the bullets only just missing him, throwing small chunks of the ground onto Jake as he desperately backpedalled away from the conflict.

A few moments later, zip-lines shot out of the dropships in all directions, dozens of IMC Grunts sliding down them as quickly as possible and engaging the Titan with co-ordinated fields of fire in an act to support their Pilot comrades. Their weapons did very little against the Ogre, barely scratching the surface of its shield. Plenty of Grunts were caught in the crossfire and were shot dead by the M-COR Titan, killed from the massive damage inflicted by the oversized rounds the Titan-sized chain-gun fired, tearing off limbs and leaving massive gaping holes in their bodies.

Jake shouted in alarm, and desperately shuffled backwards, a terrible pain in his leg becoming worse by the second. Eventually he hit a wall, and couldn't go any further. He grunted in pain, gripping his leg in agony.

Then from the corner of his eye, Jake saw something amazing. A single IMC Pilot, sprinting full tilt towards the Militia Ogre, seemingly unaware of the danger the enormous machine posed to him. The robot saw him approaching, and pulled back a fist to squash the Pilot into the ground, Lincoln was about to shout a warning to the man, but instead he simply leapt up and over the Titan and it punched the ground where the Pilot had been moments earlier.

Jake watched in rapt fascination as the IMC Pilot scuttled across the hull of the machine, and mounted himself on its upper back, pulling a manual release lever and gaining access to vital systems of the Titan's inside. The man began firing the entire clip of his weapon into the robot, dozens of rounds pouring into its core computer systems. When his rifle had emptied, he pulled out an Arc grenade and stuffed it into the port, leaping away at the last moment to not be caught in the blast. It was the most amazing thing Jake had ever seen. One man had been brave enough to charge at a Titan head on - that took _serious_ balls, not to mention a death wish.

The grenade detonated, releasing a burst of electricity throughout the entire Titan, shutting down all of its systems, leaving it completely defenceless to the enormous amount of Titan gunfire dispensed by the IMC machines across the courtyard.

The hull of the Ogre, cracked and destroyed, finally gave way to the onslaught provided by the IMC Titans. Jake briefly felt a twinge of sympathy for the Pilot in the Ogre, as the Titan collapsed into a heap of scrap, the armour all but gone and the framing charred and blackened. Some of it was still on fire, Jake noted, as the IMC Pilot reloaded his rifle and calmly walked away from the scrap-pile that used to be a Militia Ogre that had been about to kill Lincoln, had the reinforcements not arrived as soon as they did.

The Grunt quickly suppressed these emotions of empathy though, knowing he couldn't think about the enemy in any other way than that they were sub-human. Jake groaned as he began to stand up, pushing himself onto his knees. His armour was battered and broken in some places, near useless now. He slid his helmet off, knowing the danger had passed. He knew the protocols about taking off head-protection in a war-zone, but Jake didn't care. Besides, he was surrounded by a group of IMC Titans and their Pilots. He doubted that an enemy force would pick him off first if they were engaged again. He felt pretty safe, to be honest.

Jake coughed, immediately regretting the action as his chest burst into agony at the racking shakes the coughing made. Perhaps his bruises were worse than he had thought. Mind you, Jake thought, he had gone toe-to-toe with an Ogre and two Pilots, and come out on top. How many Grunts could say they'd done that?

Jake allowed a small smirk at the feeling of the light rain falling onto his face, wetting his slightly longer than regulated hair and rough beard that had started to grow in the past few days. He looked up to the sky, counting his lucky stars that he had survived the day.

He felt a twinge of sorrow at the thought of his Squad lying dead somewhere in the outpost, but buried his emotions for the time being as he saw a Pilot walking towards him, the same one who had ridden the back of the Militia Ogre.

"Can you stand?" The Pilot asked, standing five or so feet away. He had a steely hardness to his voice. A clear sign that this man was a veteran, if nothing else.

Jake nodded, groaning as he hefted his battered body to its feet. He hopped slightly and only put a tiny amount of pressure on his left leg. It was too painful for anything more. Jake didn't know it then, but he had four broken ribs, a fractured shin and several cracks in his right arm.

"You look like shit." The Pilot simply told him, a hint of humour in his voice. Jake felt like it too. Lincoln laughed a little, ignoring the pain it caused him.

"I don't know why you guys are even here; I totally had that Titan under control. I coulda handled it." Jake added, a wide grin on his face despite the pain. "I don't know what makes you Pilots so special." He laughed. Jake couldn't see his face, but he could tell the Pilot was smiling too, somehow the Grunt just knew it.

The Grunts that had survived the battle between the mechanical giants made quick work of entering the IMC outpost, sweeping through its corridors. Jake heard them shout between themselves in the silence between himself and the Pilot. He heard the report of the Grunts finding his dead team-mates. Their deaths signalled by a simple 'friendlies down'. Jake shook his head. They weren't just friendlies, not to him. They'd been brothers-in-arms, true comrades that you could only receive from the trials of battle. Truly, Goblin's had been a brotherhood forged in battle. Jake felt saddened that he was the only surviving member.

An IMC Atlas made its way over to the pair of soldiers, snapping Lincoln out of his thoughts. The hatch opened and the Titan knelt on the ground, another Pilot stepping gracefully out, dressed quite similarly to the first man, but somehow differently. The man gave Jake a long look, up and down, echoing the first man's response.

"Captain." The first Pilot greeted as the second one approached. The Captain nodded to the Pilot, then focused his attention on Jake.

"You look like shit, son. What the hell happened?" The Pilot asked.

Jake cast his eyes down as he recounted what had happened to the man, who's Titan had since stood up and was now watching guard over the outpost, along with the other seven IMC Titan's. Lincoln heard the man hum in a hint of praise when Jake told him about how he had fought two Militia Pilots and come out on top. It drew a gaze from the first Pilot, but he said nothing. Once Lincoln had finished his run-down of the mission, there was a moment of pregnant pause between the three men. Unexpectedly, the first Pilot spoke up.

"You say you fought two Pilots – and won?" He asked; signs of disbelief in his tone. Lincoln nodded. "Well, shit." He turned to the Captain. "Either this Grunt just got a handy helping of divine intervention to survive that shit-storm, sir." He turned his helmet to regard Jake.

"Or?" The Captain said, urging the first man to finish his line of thought.

"Or… we might have a PTP candidate on our hands, wouldn't you say, sir?"

Lincoln narrowed his eyes in confusion. What the hell was a PTP, and why would he be a candidate for it? But he heard the Captain hum in thought, nodding slowly after a few moments.

"I think you might be correct, Turner. We might just have a potential Pilot in our midst." The man said, his tone revealing a small amount of mirth.

Lincoln's eyes widened in realisation. Him, a Pilot? That was insane. He was just a Grunt. A run-of-the-mill soldier just serving his superiors as part of a bigger picture, he definitely wasn't Pilot material. Surely, they weren't actually considering this?

"Well, it's decided, rookie." The Captain announced, pacing a hand on his shoulder. "Welcome to the big boy club." He chuckled, turning to face the other Pilot. "Turner, seeing as you were the one that suggested it, why don't you take the rookie here under you wing? I bet you'll get along famously." The Pilot told Turner, who visibly shifted in mild annoyance at receiving his orders about training Jake. "Take him back to the Argonaut, and get his wounds checked out. Dismissed." The man said, turning towards the outpost to help in the sweep of the area.

"Yes, sir." Turner almost growled, as he turned away and walked towards a landed dropship; waiting to pick up the infantry and presumably return them to the carrier they had arrived from. "Let's go, rookie." He barked, and Lincoln quickly complied, falling in step with the bigger man as fast as he could manage, but Turner's long strides kept Jake at a very hasty pace in order to keep up.

"I didn't catch your name." Turner said in a rather flat voice.

"It's Jake." He replied. "Jake Lincoln."

"Alright, Lincoln." He spoke, stepping into the dropships bay, holding a strap on the ceiling for support. Jake did likewise, and the jump-ship quickly lifted off and began its ascent into the sky. "Let's see what you're made, shall we? The name's David, but you can call me Turner – or Lurch. I don't really care."

"Oh, and one more thing." Turner added. Jake raised an eyebrow. "Welcome to Hazard Squad."

Jake nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat as the ship accelerated into the clouds.

How the _fuck_ was he going to become a _Pilot_?


	2. Chapter I - First Lessons

The Brotherhood of Battle:

Chapter 1:

First Lessons

The drop-ship slowly came to a gradual stop in the centre of the hangar at the aft end of the _Argonaut_ , the high-pitched whine of the thrusters dying down to nothing. Turner and Lincoln walked steadily down the ramp that allowed them access to the area that they had landed in. The hangar was alive with activity; drop-ships coming in to land all over the area, maintenance crews rushing to make repairs where they were required. A few injured Grunts were being carried away on stretchers to somewhere safer, and dozens of soldiers were milling around, making their way back to their respective barracks. Another IMC Pilot was briskly walking in Jake and David's direction, a wry smile on his aging face.

"Turner!" The Pilot called out, shaking hands with Lurch. The pair of them gripped each other's forearms as a way of greeting each other. Jake gave the man a steady look, but said nothing.

"That was hard, wasn't it?" The stranger said, sarcasm in his voice. "That Titan didn't have a hope in hell." He laughed. Jake furrowed his brow. Sure, the Militia was the enemy, but that didn't mean that the Pilot inside the Ogre hadn't died for this man's sadistic sense of humour.

"Damn straight. Still counts as my kill though." David replied, as much mirth in his voice as the other man's. "Good to see you, Miller. How's the arm?" Turner asked, gesturing to the man's right side. Miller shrugged, rolling his shoulder a few times. Jake hadn't noticed before, but Miller's right arm was actually an advanced prosthetic limb, with various pieces of armour strapped to its surface.

"Ah, getting better. This old wound ain't much of a problem anymore." He laughed, clearly there was some kind of inside joke going on between the pair that Jake wasn't aware of. Lincoln shrugged it off. "Hey, I'm getting some of the boys together tonight, Lurch. Still want to come over and play some cards? I've been running low, and I could do with taking your credits again." Miller chuckled. The smile didn't reach his eyes though, Jake noticed. In fact, his two brown eyes held sadness in them, always seeming to partially stare into the middle-distance.

Turner shrugged.

"I don't know, I've gotta take care of the new rookie. The Captain put him with me." Turner told him, seeming a little put out that he couldn't join in with his friend's activity. Miller turned to look at Lincoln, as if becoming aware of his existence for the first time. Jake offered a silent nod, but Miller didn't return the gesture, which irked him somewhat.

"Bring him too. The more the merrier." Miller exclaimed happily, though he didn't address Jake when he talked. "It'll just mean more credits for me to take!"

Miller turned to Lurch, flashing a cocky grin. His face said it all; he didn't think enough of Lincoln to take him seriously, making Jake's blood boil. Turner simply shrugged with indifference.

"Alright, then. It's a deal. We'll be there." David told his friend. The man nodded, then looked at Jake to address him properly for the first time.

"You in, rookie?" He asked, clearly expecting Jake to confirm his attendance to the Pilot's card game.

"Count on it." Lincoln said in a low voice. "But I won't be the one losing credits." Jake informed him, a steely resolve in his tone. Miller chuckled at Lincoln's reply, making him even more annoyed.

"Looks like this one might have some balls." The Pilot told David, chuckling to himself. He looked back to Jake, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Hazard Squad Barracks, twenty-two hundred. Be there, rookie." Miller ordered, turning and walking away. "And bring your credits!" He hollered as he strode away confidently.

After he had been gone for a few moments, Lincoln spoke up.

"Kind of a dick, isn't he?" Jake commented.

Turner didn't turn to look at him, instead starting on the journey to the barracks on the aft of the ship. Jake soon fell into step, knowing that lagging behind would only get him reproachful stares and mocking teasing. After a minute, Turner gave Jake a long, steady look, who shook his head grimly.

"About Miller… let's just say that he's not everyone's cup of tea. Trust me, when you've seen the messed-up stuff that he has, I think you're allowed to be a bit of a dick." He spoke in a flat voice.

Jake said very little after that, as they made their way to the Pilot Barracks. After a few turns into the corridors, Turner came to a stop outside one of the many doors that lined the corridor. He pointed at the entrance.

"This is your new home, rookie." David informed Lincoln, punching in a five-digit code into a keypad next to the door to make it slip open, receding into the ceiling.

Jake followed Lurch into the room, taking in as many details about the room that he could. There were at least a dozen bunk-beds in the room, with a footlocker at the end of each one. The palette was rather monotonous, the standard IMC grey and pale white broken every so often by posters of different half-naked women on the walls. Personal trinkets and miscellaneous items stood next to each bed, ranging from pocket knives and disassembled side-arms, to trophies and medals earned from time spent in battle.

"Your bunk is over there, rookie." Turner informed him, pointing to the bed at the far end of the room. Jake made his way over, noticing that a basic looking suit of white and grey armour was laid out on the bed. He looked at it with a hint of confusion, but Turner quickly answered his questions as if he were psychic.

"Before you ask; no, that's not Pilot armour. You'll find your Pilot gear in your footlocker. That there is a prototype suit that makes integration into the simulations a bit easier on the system. Don't ask me how it works, because I don't know." Turner said, as if he'd given the speech a dozen times. "Get out of your Grunt apparel, and put that on. See how it fits. I'm going for a shower, when I get back, we'll begin your training." Turner told Jake.

Without missing a beat, David turned, picked up a towel from his own footlocker and walked out of the barracks, presumably towards the wet rooms. Jake sighed and went about unclipping his armour, carefully placing the pieces into his footlocker. Lincoln supposed he'd have time to dispose of it later. He emptied his pockets and went about organising what he'd pulled out.

Mostly useless items, like bullet casings or spare credits. He did, however, find all the dog-tags that he had claimed from the fallen. Each name of Goblin Squad, on the four identification tags that hung on each chain. Slowly and purposefully, Jake took off each tag and placed them gently into the footlocker next to his Grunt gear, thinking of the faces of every person in his former team as he set each one down. When he found the dog-tags belonging to the two Militia Pilots he had managed to kill less than an hour ago, he stared at them for a long time, eventually deciding to add both to his own chain. Perhaps it was pride that made him add them, but Jake didn't think of them as trophies. Instead, he thought of these tags as his reason for fighting. To remember the odds that he had faced and prevailed against, despite his disadvantages as a simple Grunt.

' _2nd Lt. Edward Urban, 99th Marauder Corps, Pilot Division'_ , and _' Jason Ward, 99th Marauder Corps, Pilot Division'_. How Jake had won against these two Pilots, he had no idea, but he counted his lucky stars that he was still here and able to fight another day to put down those damn terrorists.

 **VIIIIIV**

Normally, his lab was a place of solitude, a place where he could be alone and get some work done that would aid the Militia. The dimly-lit room was constantly buzzing and full of the sounds of his hard-drives working to the limits. The only illumination in the room came from the blinking lights of the system units packed into the relatively small space that were his living quarters and from the computer monitor that shone on his face.

Bish narrowed his eyes at the screen, layers of coding streaming by on the screen, too fast for any normal individual to understand, let alone decipher. His attention was so devoted to the task at hand that Bish didn't notice as a woman entered the room through the sliding door. He only snapped back to reality when she flicked on the ceiling lights, making Bish wince from the sudden light flooding into his eyes.

"Dammit, Sarah. You know I hate it when you do that." He hissed as she walked over, peeking at his screen. She only shrugged.

"What's this?" She asked, her puzzled expression saying it all. Bish rolled his eyes at her question.

"It's the information that the Pilot team pulled from that IMC outpost. Only problem is, it's encrypted like nothing I've ever seen. Locked up tighter than a miser's purse." Bish said under his breath.

"How long until you decipher what's on the drive?"

Bish sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. He was one of the best hackers in the business, but this was tough, even for him.

"A few weeks, at least." Bish confessed, uncomfortable under Sarah's scrutinising gaze.

"The fleet won't last that long." She scowled, more thinking out loud than anything else. Bish nodded, he knew that already.

"Well, they're gonna have to. The IMC wants to keep their refuelling station locations a secret, after all." Bish told her, firmness to his voice. Clearly he was far too tired to deal with her distractions.

"Hm." Sarah huffed. "Fine. I'll tell the Red Eye to inform the fleet to avoid fighting for the next month, that should conserve some fuel if we don't use it on the weapon systems." She told him, patting him on the shoulder. "Get some rest, Bish, you're gonna need it."

With that, she left the room, turning the lights off as she went, returning the space to its previous state. Bish sat back, staring into the gloom above him. After a moment's thought, he surrendered to his exhaustion, turning off the monitor to get a few hours rest. He started mumbling to himself strings of numbers, his own way of 'counting sheep'.

"Eight times three is twenty-four, seven times seven is forty-nine, eight plus…"

 **VIIIIIV**

"No, no, no!" Turner told Jake through his earpiece. "You're doing it all wrong, Jake."

Lincoln sighed as the world around him dissolved into nothingness, a stark white backdrop all around him. Only he and David remained, who had his arms crossed and had a tired expression on his face.

"What did I do wrong that time?" Jake asked, exasperated. "I had the upper-hand on those Grunts! In a ground-to-ground engagement, any-"

"A ground-to-ground engagement?" David scoffed. "Are you kidding? You aren't limited to the ground any more, Rookie." He chuckled at that. "As a Pilot, you can move fluidly throughout the battle field, on any surface, horizontal or vertical. Your movement out there is limitless." He explained.

"I guess I'm just having trouble wrapping my head around it all." Jake confessed. It was a lot to take on. His new Pilot jump-kit would take some getting used to before he could properly navigate the field, but he'd get there.

David sighed, putting a reassuring hand on Jake's shoulder.

"Don't worry, rookie, you'll get there. These things take time." Turner admitted. "Reset simulation!" David called out to the infinite void of whiteness. Immediately, an environment began to form around the pair. Trees, buildings and an inky black sky all came slowly into existence, slowly forming over the course of about a minute.

"Watch and learn, Jake." David told him, smiling. With that, he slid on his helmet and a weapon materialised in his hands out of thin air.

A soft beeping echoed throughout the now fully formed environment, a countdown to the beginning of the simulation. A training exercise, created to challenge a Pilot's navigational abilities as well as their combat rating without their Titan. The world around them was procedurally generated by the ship's on-board A.I., presenting new constraints for the challenge every time it was reset. This was partially done to train the Pilot's ability to improvise, but to also mirror the unpredictability of the battlefield in reality.

"Simulation commencing in; five, four, three, two, one." A feminine artificial voice boomed, echoing from the sky like the voice of a god. "Good luck, Pilot."

And with that, David took off at a sprint towards the nearest wall, jumping and using his momentum to run along its vertical surface. When he was about to drop from the wall due to his gradually decreasing speed, David leapt from the running surface and used his jump-kit to reach the rooftop of an adjacent building. After reaching it, the Pilot turned to Lincoln and waved him encouragement to do the same.

With some uncertainty, Jake made off at a run to the wall David had used and replicated his movements as best as he could. The jump-kit offered him some thrust as he ran along the wall, and Jake quickly used his speed and jump-pack to bridge the gap between the two buildings. He joined David on the rooftop and smiled triumphantly.

"Don't get cocky, kid." David smiled. "That was the easy part. Stay here and watch what I do."

Before Jake could say anything else, a few loud booms could be heard above them, and as if on cue, three drop-pods slammed into the ground, flying up pieces of virtual debris in their wake. The doors of the pods opened up and a squad of Grunts filed quickly out of each one, scanning around the immediate area.

"Party time." Jake heard David mutter. From their vantage point, Jake watched as David triggered his active camouflage and jumped down towards the first set of Grunts. Five in total. Jake would've had no idea where David was if there wasn't a friend-or-foe tag attached to his HUD. Lincoln watched Lurch creep up behind a pair of Grunts with their backs to him, removing his Data Knife, Turner stabbed the Grunt on his left through the back of his neck, and removed the Hammond P2201 from his holster, sending a bullet through the other Grunts head.

At the sound of the gunshot, the other three Grunts whipped around to face David, but it was already too late. The Pilot threw a satchel charge between them, and used his jump-kit to double jump backwards, away from the resulting explosion.

"Pilot contact identified!" Jake heard a Grunt yell somewhere off to the left, their attention drawn by the gunshots and explosion David had unleashed so far. Turner wasted no time in sprinting towards the nearest wall, reloading his pistol on the way there. The next squad of Grunts came around the corner as he wallran, and began to open fire on David, but their shots were sprayed, and didn't hit the Pilot once. David used his free hand to shoot his sidearm at the Grunts, killing three of the five in the four blasts he fired off. The fourth impacted in the shoulder of one of the two remaining Grunts, making him cry out in pain and slip backwards. David landed on his crippled form, using his Data Knife to stab him once in the chest. The last Grunt received a swift kick from Turner, the force of the movement increased by his jump-kit, breaking the bones in the Grunt's leg. Jake winced at the sound of the crack from the other side of the courtyard, carried over to him by the simulated wind.

Now only five Grunts remained, and David hastily made his way up the side of a nearby building, reaching the rooftop to gain a tactical advantage on the last squad of Grunts below him. Instead of jumping down to engage them, David let out three burst from his Hemlok Rifle, downing three Grunts. The last two were eliminated by another of his Satchel Charges, detonated in mid-air by Turner when they got close enough to allow the explosion to kill the last two Grunts.

"Whoa." Jake breathed out, smiling as he opened his comm-link to speak to Turner. Again, the world around them turned into the white purgatory as it dissolved bit by bit into nothingness.

"Nice job." Jake told him.

"What can I say?" Turner laughed. "It wasn't that hard, these were just Grunts after all."

Jake nodded, knowing that he had been just that a few days ago, before the mission to the IMC outpost.

"Now I want to see what you can do." Turner informed Jake, snatching his thoughts back to the present. "I've had this next course designed to challenge you. Normally this test would be reserved for Pilots with experience under their belts, those who've proved themselves out there. In here, it's difficult, even for me sometimes." Turner admitted. "Ready?"

Jake let out a nervous breath.

"Why the hell would you think I'd be able to do this if you can't?" He asked, the simulated world already forming around them. Turner just shrugged.

"I've got a feeling about you, Jake."

"A good feeling, or…" Jake asked, a nervous smirk etched on his lips.

"I'm not sure yet. But there's something about you that I can't put my finger on." He admitted. "Not many Grunts can say they killed two Pilots, alone, and come out on top. Shit, not even most Pilots could do that." Turner told him, the honesty of his words putting some confidence into Jake.

But the moment of understanding between the two Pilots was gone as soon as it had come, and David gestured to the new virtual world building around them.

"Come on then, rookie; let's see if you learned anything." David informed him, and Jake looked around, a C.A.R SMG appearing in his hands.

Dozens of buildings surrounded the pair, providing a lot of cover for any enemy forces in the area. The height would easily hide a Titan if one was hiding here, but somehow Jake doubted he'd be pitted against one of those this early in his training.

"Simulation commencing in five, four, three, two, one. Good luck, Pilot." The artificial voice announced once more, signalling Jake to begin the exercise.

"Thanks." He muttered, knowing it was pointless to be polite to the robotic drone of the A.I., but his parents had always taught him to mind his manners in front of women – apparently, that courtesy extended to fabricated, artificial ladies too. Jake chuckled as he took off towards the nearest high-rise at a sprint.

The buildings made for a field day as Lincoln began wall-running up to the rooftops, watching silently as Militia dropships swept over the buildings and deployed their troops at various intervals on the ground. Jake engaged his cloaking device, and descended onto the five or so Grunts that stood there. Jake crept up behind one of them, using his Data Knife to slit his throat and snap the neck of a second soldier. The remaining three whipped around to face Jake, and Jake quickly wallran on a nearby surface to zip over their heads as they turned, dropping down onto another Grunt as he landed on his body. He quickly eliminated the last two with quick bursts from his gun, moving again before their bodies touched the ground.

This went on for a some time, Jake would locate a group of hostiles, and take them down in a quick and efficient manner. After he had decimated four more squads, he relaxed, hearing a klaxon boom around him. He assumed that the sound indicated the end of the simulation, and Jake relaxed, slinging his rifle and opening a comm-link to Lurch.

"I thought you said it would be challenging?" Jake asked his supervisor, laughing slightly to himself.

Loud thumps shook the ground around Jake, and suddenly he wasn't so relaxed any more.

"It's not over yet, rookie." David said over the crackle of his radio.

A green and brown Militia Titan rounded the corner, roughly fifty metres away from Jake. The barrel of its XO-16 chain gun aimed straight at the Pilot, caught by the machine like a rabbit in the headlights.

"Oh, shit." Jake muttered, engaging his active camouflage and darting inside the nearest building for cover. The Atlas Titan that had been looking at him opened up with a barrage of ammunition at the spot he had been in moments earlier.

"Come out, you piece of shit IMC. I won't hurt you." The Pilot inside the Titan announced.

Jake raised his eyebrows; these simulations were pretty accurate when it came to the M-COR's attitude to the IMC. Really, the techies had _outdone_ themselves with this one.

He frantically began racking his brain to figure out how he could take down this Titan without a mech of his own. Jake hadn't even had any training in a Titan cockpit yet, and this simulation didn't allow him to call on one of the walking tanks for himself. In other words, he was on his own.

"Come on, Jake, think!" He chastised himself, crouched in the corner of the second floor of the building he had run into. Suddenly, his mind was snapped back to the moment that Hazard Squad had saved him from the Ogre back at the abandoned IMC outpost. How David had sprinted full-tilt at the Titan and crammed the maintenance port full of as much explosives as he could manage. Lincoln heard the booming footsteps of the Titan outside and wondered if he could pull off a similar action. He checked his ordnance on his belt. Damn, only two Arc Grenades. He'd have to be precise, but first he had to get onto the Titan's back.

"What, don't wanna play?" The Militia Pilot taunted.

Jake took off up the flight of stairs leading to the roof of the building and walked to the edge of the high-rise. The Titan stood there, stationary, watching the ground carefully for any sign of Jake. It was a long way down, and if he missed…

Jake didn't even want to think about it. Breathing out a shaky sigh, he took a few steps back, ready for a running start. Jake began to run at the edge of the rooftop, building speed and momentum. No turning back now.

"I'm the boss, I'm the boss, I'm the boss." Lincoln muttered to himself, psyching himself up for the jump. "I'm the BOSS!"

He leapt, and fell fifty metres before triggering his jump-kit and landing deftly on the Atlas' back. His landing must've caught the Pilot's attention, because as soon as Jake removed the maintenance hatch, a cloud of smoke suddenly enveloped the Titan. Jake panicked, jumping off the Titan's back and away from the Electric Smoke, which crackled and fizzed with energy, though the Titan seemed unaffected by the fog.

Jake tried to run, but the Titan was on him in seconds, taking swings at Lincoln with its giant fists, only just missing him each time.

"Hold still so I can kill you, you fuck!" It bellowed.

Jake armed an Arc grenade, and dropped it behind him, the burst of electricity blinding the Titan for a few precious moments. Rather than running away from the Titan, like his body begged him to, Jake ran at the stunned Titan, and swiftly made his way back onto its shoulders, unloading his entire magazine into the inner workings of the massive robot, dooming it.

"Take that." He muttered angrily, leaping off, and lobbing another grenade to be safe, he made his escape.

The Titan exploded shortly after, as its Pilot ejected into the sky. Jake looked to find the Pilot, and lined up his rifle to take some pot-shots at the man who had been hurling insults at him moments earlier. Just as he was about to pull the trigger, the feminine artificial voice returned, and the Militia Pilot disintegrated, along with the world surrounding Jake.

"Nice job, Jake." David congratulated him. "I fully expected you to fail that sim. Not bad for a rookie."

"What can I say? I guess I learned from the best." Jake's rifle dissipated as he turned to face the approaching Pilot.

"Damn right. You learn pretty quickly too, Ace." Lurch agreed, letting the nickname roll off his tongue.

"Ace, huh?" Jake shrugged. "You know, it's got a ring to it. I like it."

David let out a bark of laughter at that. "Don't get ahead of yourself." He jested. "Prepare yourself." He told Jake, his face suddenly serious. Jake didn't even have time to ask what he meant before his world faded to black and it felt like his insides had been turned into liquid.

 **VIIIIIV**

His head pounded, and Jake could swear that he could feel his heartbeat throbbing all over his body. His immersion pod hissed as it opened, revealing the room beyond. The other pods nearby were still all unoccupied, except for Turner's, which was already open, and the man in question had already stepped out.

"Session terminating." The operating system's voice droned through the speakers inside the pod. "Please take care when exiting the shuttle."

Jake groaned, undoing the straps that held him in place. There was a persistent ringing in his ears, and he slammed his eyes shut to block out the white noise. Lincoln felt like he was about to vomit, his stomach was doing backflips. He felt a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly.

"The first integration is always the worst, Jake. Don't worry; you'll live, even if it doesn't feel like it." David informed him, chuckling at Jake's pained expression. "Easy does it." He told him, helping Jake get out of the pod and stand on his own two feet. "Readjustment usually takes a little while on your first time. Just take it slow, Ace." He continued.

Jake nodded as he sighed, trying to take a few steps forward towards a bench pressed against a nearby wall. Lincoln shook his head violently, and balled his hands into fists. This was worse than any hangover he'd ever had.

"The nausea will pass. Give it a minute, Jake."

Sure enough, after a few long and painful moments, the pounding in Jake's head began to subside, and the dizziness and nausea he'd felt upon exiting the pod had all but vanished.

"Goddamn, that feels rough." Jake said in a low tone, a bark of laughter following his words. David chuckled as well.

"It gets better, don't worry about it. Like I said, first integration is the worst."

It took a moment, but slowly Jake managed to draw himself to his full height and exhale loudly, the urge to vomit completely gone. He nodded at Lurch, who smiled and patted Lincoln on the shoulder.

"Come on; time to head back to the barracks. Don't want to miss that poker game, do we?" David told him. Lincoln nodded.

"I'm a little short on credits right now anyway. I could always do with a few more." He joked.

 **VIIIIIV**

There was a knock at the door, and a nearby Pilot opened it using a keypad next to the entrance. A Marvin walked in silently, reaching where Jake was sat on his bed. The android drew a few looks from the rest of Hazard, but for the most part, the Marvin was ignored.

"Jake Lincoln." It said in a monotonous tone, drawing Jake's attention from his datapad. He wasn't entirely sure if the Marvin was asking him for his attention or whether it was a statement made by the robot.

"Yes?" He replied, raising an eyebrow.

"Ship Captain Richards is requesting your presence on the bridge." It informed him.

"Now?" Jake asked, glancing at his team-mates, the statement from the Marvin had drawn a few glances, especially when it dropped the name of the _Argonaut's_ Captain.

"Affirmative." It droned.

Jake put down his pad, shuffling out of his bunk-bed. "Okay, gimme a second." He grunted as he pulled on his boots and stood up. The Marvin was already out of the door by the time Jake had finished standing up, clearly not granting his request to wait for him. Jake huffed and followed the android out of the door and through the corridors of the ship. Grunts recognised Jake's Pilot gear and gave him a wide berth, clearly worried for their own safety around him. That amused Jake in some regards, but he wondered if this meant he was no longer welcome as a Grunt due to his untimely promotion to Pilot.

Reaching the bridge of the ship didn't take any longer than a few minutes, using on-board elevators and short-cuts, Jake found himself in the nerve centre of the ship in no time. It was a hive of constant activity, technicians buzzing around from screen to screen, monitoring the ship's current state and dozens of other things besides that. A raised platform was at the front of the room, with three figures standing on it, talking amongst themselves and looking out into the vast expanse of the inky blackness of space. They had their backs turned to Jake, but he identified one of the figures as Captain Richards, and so Lincoln began to make his way up the stairs to reach the raised platform. Richards soon turned to look at him, and Jake gave a sharp salute.

"At ease." He told Jake, returning the gesture. Jake changed his posture accordingly, staring into the middle-distance over Richards shoulder.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" He asked.

"No, Pilot, I didn't." He said, a slightly annoyed tone to his voice, though Jake suspected his annoyance wasn't aimed at him. "They did." He said, nodding in the direction of the other two figures on the platform.

Jake flicked his eyes to look quickly at the men he was referring to, and quickly hitched his breath.

Vice-Admiral Graves.

He had another man standing with him, with short blonde hair and a rough goatee. He was outfitted in customised IMC Pilot gear, and Jake suspected that this man was Graves' personal bodyguard and trusted cohort; Kuben Blisk. The two men turned to face Jake. Graves had his arms crossed, his eyes narrowed at the Pilot before him. Blisk, on the other hand, was staring intently at Jake, a hand lazily grasping the grip on his sidearm in its holster on his thigh. Lincoln assumed that this was just a force of habit, and that the mercenary didn't mean anything by his threatening gesture, but Jake ceratinly didn't want to get on his bad side regardless.

"This is him?" Graves asked Richards, still looking at Jake. Richards nodded his confirmation, and Graves stepped closer to Lincoln. "PFC Jake Lincoln. You know who I am?" He asked.

"Yessir." Jake replied immediately. "You're Vice Admiral Marcus Graves."

Graves raised an eyebrow. "Do you know why I'm here?"

"No, sir." He replied.

Graves was silent for a moment, and he looked at Blisk, who simply shrugged. "Might as well tell him, sir." Blisk said, his tone obviously showing he didn't care either way. Graves turned back to Jake.

"I understand you recently went on a mission to an IMC outpost in the Serpent system. You and your squad were told that it was a simple reconnaissance mission, that you were there looking for any survivors and were to eliminate any remaining Militia hostiles. You were ambushed, and the rest of your squad was terminated." He spoke, a semi-bored tone to his voice that irked Jake when he spoke of his deceased friends so dismissively. "Am I correct?"

"Yes, sir." Jake replied. "Except for one thing."

Graves clearly wasn't expecting an interruption, and so he remained silent, waiting for Jake to elaborate.

"The members of my squad were not 'terminated', sir. They were killed, without mercy." He told him, still not meeting the Vice Admiral's eyes. "They were _men_ , sir. Good men. Their lives were wasted." Lincoln informed him, a hardness to his voice that he didn't normally possess.

Blisk made a step towards Jake, an angry look on his face. Lincoln readied himself for speaking in such a way to a superior officer, but it never came. Graves put out a hand in front of Blisk, who stopped dead in his tracks.

Graves sighed, understanding Jake's point of view. He had served with these men. They were not just soldiers to him. Not just pawns in an army of faceless grunts. They had been his _friends_. His brothers–in-arms. And now they were dead.

"You have my condolences, Pilot. But this war is bigger than any one squad. It's a tough pill to swallow, but it's true." Graves told him, an inflection of sympathy in his voice. "Now, about your mission. Did you discover what the Militia were doing there? Do you know what they wanted?"

Jake nodded, digging into his pocket and bringing out the chip he had taken from the Militia Pilot's helmet after his first skirmish. He handed it to Graves, who studied it with close scrutiny. After a moment, Graves handed it to Blisk, who placed the chip into a wrist-mounted device on his right-arm. After a minute, Blisk's eyes visibly widened.

"These are some very sensitive documents, sir." He announced, staring at the screen on his wrist. "That outpost had links to a lot of the IMC's more secretive operations." Blisk scrolled through the list of documents that the M-COR had procured from the outpost, listing off a few to the other three men. "Blueprints for new Titan designs, weapon schematics, Frontier refuelling depots…"

"Wait." Graves interjected.

"Sir?" Blisk looked at the Vice Admiral.

"They have the locations of all IMC refuelling depots?" He asked. Jake could see the colour drain from the Vice Admiral's face.

"Confirmed. It's on here all right. But it's buried under a heavy encryption. It would take months for even our best technicians to crack it, and we have the codes." Blisk told him.

"It won't matter…" The Vice Admiral muttered. "It'll only be a matter of time."

Graves looked at the ship Captain.

"Captain Richards, I need you to plot a course to the Planet Victor." He ordered. Richards nodded, descending from the platform to notify his bridge crew of their new destination. Graves turned to Blisk. "Notify Spyglass to send our fleets to the other mining worlds. We can't afford for the Militia to get a hold on our fuel depots. It could give them a fighting chance."

"And we wouldn't want that, now would we?" Blisk chuckled. "I'm on it." After a moment, the mercenary left too, leaving only Lincoln and Graves on the platform. Now, the Vice Admiral looked at him.

"Pilot, I suggest you finish your training. I'm going to need every able body ready to defend our depots at a moment's notice." Graves informed him. Jake nodded, turning to walk away. "Oh, and one more thing, Pilot."

Jake turned back to Graves, who handed him a computer chip about the size of a matchbox. Green lines ran down its surface in an erratic pattern, but they glowed with a faint light. Jake looked at the Vice Admiral, an eyebrow raised. H had no idea what to make of this gift.

"Say hello to your Titan Operating System." Graves smirked. Jake looked up at him I surprise. "Once you get a Titan, the techies will install that chip and you'll be neurally-linked to it. So, if I were you, I'd get acquainted with your new A.I. before then. Take some time to get to know it - you'll be putting your life in its hands soon enough." Graves finished.

Jake just stood there, unable to say anything he was so shocked. His own Titan OS! He was really beginning to feel like a Pilot.

"Thank you, sir." Jake said firmly, giving the Vice Admiral a quick salute.

And with that, Jake began to make his way back to Hazard Squad's barracks.

 **VIIIIIV**

"Alright, White, it's on you." Miller said in a low voice, a small smirk on his lips.

White looked at his cards intently, his eyes flicking to the cards on the table, sweat clinging to his face. Jake watched him intently, along with the other members of the table and the members of Hazard that weren't involved in this round of cards. The pot at the centre of the table was growing rapidly, now worth over one hundred credits. It was obvious that no one wanted to be knocked out, and White still had a few chips to add to the pot, but if his face was anything to go by, he certainly didn't have a good hand.

"Uh…" He said quietly. Miller sighed.

"C'mon, White, get on with it. Are you gonna call or not?" A Pilot said from the small amount of onlookers they had watching the game.

"Hang on, Freckles, let him think." Another voice commented.

Another few moments went by, and eventually White put his cards face down on the table.

"I fold." He muttered, annoyed at himself.

Everyone watching whooped and laughed at his defeat, except for the three remaining members on the table. David, Miller and Jake kept on switching between staring at the cards on the table, to their own cards, to the faces of their opponents.

"Quiet, man, it's Miller's turn." A Spanish accent called out, a hush descending on the crowd.

A few seconds went by before Miller threw a few more chips into the pot, staring at David as he did so. A few quiet 'ooh's' could be heard, but nobody said anything else. David's face was a mask of concentration, it gave nothing away. Not a smile of satisfaction or a jaw clench - nothing. He just stared at the cards on the table. Eventually, he added even more chips to the pot, putting in even more than Miller had before him, raising the bar if Jake wanted to stay in this round.

Of course, he did, and Jake quickly added his own credits, but only the bare minimum amount. Lincoln was running out, and if he lost all of his chips - and his hand let him down - he'd be busted out. He had to play this hand carefully. Luckily he had some confidence in this hand. It wasn't a _bad_ hand, but it could be better.

David, seeing as he was the dealer for this round, revealed the last card on the table. The ace of spades.

Now that all five were visible, Jake's breath hitched, ever so slightly. But the two other Pilots picked up on it. David's face remained impassive, but Miller smiled in triumph. The Pilot clearly thought that the quick inhalation was one of fear, or worry.

"I'm all in…" Miller spoke, and the quiet erupted into a hurricane of whispers and mutterings.

Seeing as Miller's stash of chips was higher than Turner's and Lincoln's, both of them had no choice, but to go all in themselves or be busted out.

"Cards on the table, lads!" A rough British voice called out, followed by a series of whoops and hollers.

David put his hand of cards face up; two pairs. Two Kings and two eights.

"Not bad, Lurch." Miller admitted. "But not good enough."

Miller confidently slammed down his own cards; three of a kind and a pair. Three Queens, and a pair of three's.

He made a move to rake in the chips to himself, standing up and leaning forward to claim the credits. But Lincoln put up a finger, leaning forward onto the table to rest on his elbows as he took a sip from his drink.

"Actually…" He trailed off. A pin-drop silence descended, and Miller stared at Jake, then flicked his eyes to the cards in Jake's hand.

Lincoln put the cards gently onto the table, the smallest hint of mischievous smile cracking through his lips.

Three of a kind, and a pair.

The other three Ace's, and a pair of seven's.

Immediately, the room exploded with cries of triumph from the other members of Hazard Squad. Miller stared defiantly, but sat back down in his chair, gesturing to the credits in the middle of the table. Lincoln nodded to the man, and Miller nodded back. Jake looked over to David, whose impassive face had cracked ever so slightly to reveal a small smirk. Jake stood and claimed his chips, collecting them in his pockets. He collected the cards as well, but put the Ace of Spades into his pocket – his lucky card that had won him the game.

Turner stood up and said something in Lincoln's ear before walking over to his bed, ready to call it a night.

Jake smiled as he made his way to his own footlocker, placing the credits inside. He took one of the shoulder plates for his Pilot gear and strapped the playing card to it, firmly keeping it in place, wedged into the slot usually reserved for some other piece of non-essential kit.

The Ace of Spades.

" _It's settled. I guess you really are an 'Ace'."_ David had chuckled, referring to Jake by his new nickname.

Jake 'Ace' Lincoln.

Jake smiled. He had to admit, it had a nice ring to it.

 **VIIIIIV**

 **Author's Note:**

 **Sorry this took so long. My contract with my latest job recently came to an end, so I've been busy trying to find a new employer. Besides, college is really giving me grief at the minute. I'll try to update the next chapter sooner, but I can't promise anything. Anyway, thank you for reading, and I'll see you in the next chapter.**

 **David 'Lurch' Turner is a character that belongs to Razzack, and you'll see some more of Jake in his story 'Banners of Hatred', so check that out!**

 **See on the Frontier, Pilots.**

 **Reily.216**


	3. Chapter II - The Assessment

The Brotherhood of Battle

Chapter 2:

The Assessment

 **2 Weeks Later…**

 _Lincoln's Logbook:_

 _Turner's been pushing me hard during the training. Every day for the past three weeks, he's been grinding me in the simulations, putting me through all these rigorous exercises to train me to improve in a certain areas. I'm getting better, and according to the Captain, I've been climbing the Squad leaderboard – seventh place. I'm a long way behind David, but that's to be expected. Still, not bad, eh? But I've still a lot of training to do. I haven't even been inside a_ real _Titan yet, just the simulation versions._

 _I'm scheduled for my neural implant tomorrow, and then I'll be able to have my OS integrated into my system and enter MY Titan for the first time! I'm so excited to finally be a true Pilot! David says we're going to have to take it slow, because of the link between myself and the OS. Once I've 'linked', it should be a piece of piss. That's what he said anyway._

 **VIIIIIV**

"Are you ready?" The technician gently asked Jake as he exited from the small changing room in the medical wing of the _Argonaut._ He was dressed in a simple hospital gown, coming down to his knees. It was a dull grey colour, just like everything else in the IMC, it seemed.

Lincoln exhaled a shaky breath, nodding silently. He was too scared to speak, worried that his voice might waver and give away how nervous he was about what was about to happen. He was supposed to be a Pilot, the best of the best. Jake didn't want to appear weak in front of this woman and shatter the illusion.

"Please follow me." She asked Jake, as she turned on her heel and began walking briskly down the stark white sterilised medical wards. Lincoln followed her closely, rushing past other patients and nurses hastily walking with clipboards of medical jargon written on them. Jake didn't see anyone he recognised, but he didn't really know the other Pilot squads here extensively, so he wasn't too surprised that he couldn't tell if anyone else was here for the same procedure that he was.

Soon enough, the pair of them arrived at an operating theatre, the nurse turned around to face him and Jake looked into the white room with trepidation. There was no turning back now, he thought to himself. As if sensing his thoughts, the woman put her hand on his arm reassuringly, rubbing the muscle there and giving it a light squeeze.

"You'll be fine, Pilot." She told him in a quiet voice, her ginger hair falling to cover one of her eyes. "The doctors here are professionals. They've done this hundreds of times before." She smiled, and Jake suddenly realised that she was quite beautiful. He'd been so distracted, he hadn't thought about it earlier. "You're in safe hands here."

"Is it going to hurt?" Lincoln asked her, the nerves clear in his voice.

She sighed, knowing the answer wouldn't be what he wanted to hear. Jake nodded his thanks, putting on a brave smile. His gaze soon returned to the operating room, and a few minutes later, an ageing man in blue hospital scrubs walked up to them, holding a clipboard in one hand.

"Jake Lincoln?" He asked. Lincoln turned to face him, raising an eyebrow. "I'm Doctor Free; I'll be leading the procedure today." He informed the Pilot. Jake shook the man's outstretched hand and smiled as convincingly as he could manage. "Are you ready to begin?" He asked Jake, who simply nodded in response. "Then follow me."

Jake followed the doctor into the operating room, sitting down on the chair propped up to greet him in the centre of the room. Another surgeon entered through the same door, and Doctor Free nodded to him as he gestured for Jake to lie down on the chair.

"This is Doctor Jones; he'll be assisting me in the operation." Free explained to Jake, who didn't reply, who instead clutched his hands into fists, trying to stop them from shaking with the nerves. "Are you ready to proceed?"

Jake swallowed a lump in his throat as he pondered his next choice. This would be his last chance to back out of the program; to decline the hand fate had dealt him. He chose what he said next very carefully.

"Yes."

"Then let us begin."

 **VIIIIIV**

Turner strode into the recovery room of the _Argonaut_ , searching for his 'protégé'. It didn't take him long, as this section was reserved for the Pilot's on-board the ship, and so there were very few occupants in any of the beds. After a few minutes of searching the different rooms, David found who he was looking for, and he knocked on the door and took a seat at Lincoln's bedside.

"How was it?" He asked, not wasting any time with small-talk. Jake smiled as he sat up, reaching for his glass of water on the bedside table. He took a sip, then exhaled slowly.

"It was… different." He simply replied, not too sure what to make of the procedure. "I don't feel any different, at least, not mentally."

David nodded; he knew that the neural implant was a difficult part of any Pilot's initiation, but it was one of the final steps before Jake would be formally recognised as a Pilot of the IMC. Now all he needed was a Titan and a Squad. Lincoln already had the latter covered, but the former was still to be fulfilled. It would be done sooner rather than later, now that Jake had his neural implant ready for his Titan A.I., or OS.

"It'll take some getting used to, but it's worth it." David confirmed for Jake, trying to convince him that this was a good thing.

"What does it do exactly?" Jake asked, a puzzled expression on his face as he felt the piece of metal protruding slightly from the back of his neck.

David shrugged, but offered a hint of a smile to Lincoln.

"Don't ask me, I'm no technician. I think it's got something to do with establishing and maintaining the neural link between a Pilot and Titan. It makes it easier for you to command your Titan when you're separated from it, and control your Titan more efficiently when you're in the cockpit." David mused. It sounded logical enough to Jake, and he wondered whether it did anything else.

"Speaking of which…" Jake mentioned, holding his A.I. chip up to his face, the one that Vice Admiral Graves had given to him on the bridge of the _Argonaut._ "What do I do with this?" Lincoln asked David.

"Plug it in, Ace." Lurch simply said.

"What?" A genuine look of confusion crossed Lincoln's face.

"Plug it into your Titan; it'll download into the chassis' SERE kit, then you can keep the chip as a back-up copy. You know, in case you lose your Titan." David explained.

"Right." Jake hummed. "But I don't have a Titan. Remember?" Lincoln reminded him.

David didn't say anything for a long moment. Then, he stood up and left the room, only to return moments later with Jake's Pilot apparel.

"Put this on. You're behind on your training." David told him, unempathetic to his current situation.

Jake was about to protest and tell Lincoln that didn't think he'd be able to manage one of their usual sessions in the simulation pods. But David was already walking out of the door.

"Meet me in the secondary hangar." Turner called out to Jake as he left. Jake sighed heavily as he pulled the covers off of his legs and stood onto the floor of the recovery room, he untied the laces tying up his hospital gown, and quickly changed into his Pilot gear, smirking when he saw the Ace of Spades on the shoulder plate.

He held his helmet in the crook of his arm and placed the OS chip into one of his suit's many pockets. Jake cracked his neck, trying to get rid of the stiffness there, and quickly left the room, making his way to the secondary hangar to meet David for his training.

 **VIIIIIV**

"The Fleet's assembled." Sarah announced as she barged into his lab for the first time in two weeks. Her sudden entrance surprised the hacker, and he jumped in surprise at her loud voice shattering the silence of the room, aside from the whirring of computers and the dull roaring of the engines at the other end of the starship.

"They took their time." Bish muttered, more to himself than anything. Sarah leaned over his shoulder to peek at the data on his screen.

"Well, it tends to make for a delay when our dreadnoughts have to purposely avoid IMC traffic routes and use the outer colony trade routes. Besides, weren't you the one who suggested for them to be slow and get here safely?" Sarah questioned with a slight snarkiness to her tone.

The pudgy Asian man rolled his eyes.

"Actually, Sarah, I told them to avoid _conflict_ , not go the long way. That was your idea." He corrected her.

"It's the same thing." She informed him.

"Touché." Bish smirked, returning his gaze to the screens.

"Please tell me you've got something on those co-ordinates. The fuel for the Fleet is at critical. If we don't have the location soon, we'll be floating like asteroids. And if the IMC find us like that…" Sarah trailed off, grimacing. Bish knew it was never pretty when the IMC found a Militia ship. Their resources were far superior to anything the M-COR could scavenge from the Frontier, as they were funded by Hammond Robotics.

"Don't worry, I'm just finishing up, should be done in a few hours."

"Good." Sarah sighed, wiping some sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. "Command's breathing down my neck about it. We can't afford to waste any more time, and I'm running out of excuses to stall for you."

Bish scoffed. Sarah cast him a dangerous glance, and he held up his hands in mock surrender.

"Hey, why don't you let _them_ try cracking a tier-five self-modulating IMC encryption scheme? See how long it takes them?" He chuckled to himself. "I'd like to see them do it in just over two weeks."

Sarah remained stoic for a few more seconds, but eventually cracked a smile. "I guess you're right. You've done the Militia a favour, Bish, they won't forget it."

"They better not." He laughed. "Took me ages just to isolate the encryption scheme, and then duplicate it with my own tweaks…" Bish took in Sarah's blank expression with a smirk. "You have no idea what I'm saying, do you?"

"I normally just block it out, to be honest." She teased, punching him lightly on the arm. "Seriously though, Bish - good job. I'll buy you a drink when we get to the next settlement."

"No problem. Check back in a couple of hours, and then you can tell Command that we've got our location." Bish said. "Then the real work begins. It's not like the IMC are just going to _give_ us the fuel we need."

"You let me worry about that." Sarah informed him. "All you have to do is get us that location, and then run interference during the operation. Let me handle the leg work."

 **VIIIIIV**

Jake looked around the hangar with a hungry gaze, it was almost an exact replica of the Argonaut's main hangar, but it was slightly smaller, and currently wasn't in use, and so Lincoln was alone in the large room. Not for long, it seemed, as Jake soon heard a series of loud reverberations clunking towards him, growing steadily louder. He couldn't pinpoint where the noise was coming from, so he looked around the room with a confused look.

The source of the sound soon appeared, as a lone IMC Ogre Titan came into view from an open bulkhead at the far end of the room. Jake quickly realised that the loud clunking noises he had heard were the footfalls of the large mechanical unit, and he smirked as the Ogre drew closer, opening its front hatch to reveal the Pilot inside.

"How do you do, Lurch?" Jake smiled as David flicked a couple of switches above him in the cockpit, pressing a button on the side of his helmet to reveal his face as the visor snapped back and the armour-plating parted.

"Hey, Ace." He greeted. "This is Hannah. Hannah, this is Jake."

" _Hallo_." A computer voice said through Jake's comm unit. Clearly the A.I. operating the Titan. " _Ich bin froh zu hören, dass ihre operation ohne zwischenfall abgeschlossen wurde_."

Jake raised an eyebrow at David.

"Hannah says she's glad you didn't die from the operation, Jake." Turner translated.

"Uh, thanks, Hannah. I appreciate the thought." Lincoln replied. "What did you call me here for, David?" Ace asked.

David crossed his arms, and Jake noticed that the unarmed Titan mimicked the movement at the exact same time David carried out the movement.

"Well, I was thinking that it's about time you got into a Titan. And not just a simulation version, it's time for you to try the real thing." David told him. Jake's smile broadened.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Your final assessment with Hazard is tomorrow anyway, and I want you to know how to operate the real thing before then." David explained. He didn't smile though. To Turner, this was just another part of Jake's training.

But to Jake, this was his dream come true. It was the dream of every Grunt in the IMC army to ascend to the rank of Pilot and command their own Titan on the battlefield - himself included. Jake threw a questioning look at David, regarding his Ogre with an inquisitive eye.

"So, who's Titan am I getting into?" Jake asked. David almost chuckled at that.

"You're not getting into mine, if that's what you're suggesting." He clarified, uncrossing his arms. Jake regarded him with hard look. "You're getting into that one." David pointed up to the ceiling, and Lincoln followed his finger.

Jake gasped when he saw it. His very own Titan - an Atlas model. It was held up to the ceiling by magnetic clamps attached to its shoulders, and Jake briefly wondered how he was supposed to get into it. As if on cue, the Titan began to slowly descend from the ceiling using some wires attached to the clamps.

As soon as the Titan's two massive feet touched the floor, the magnetic clamps released, and the Atlas landed with a heavy thud as the rest of its enormous weight crashed to the ground. Jake gasped in amazement, watching the Titan come online, and the blue glow in the machine's 'eye' slowly appear. Flywheels and servos in its gargantuan body began to whir and spin, allowing the Titan to stand and makes its way over to Jake.

The Pilot stood still in appreciation as the Atlas knelt before him. Without saying a word, the machine opened its hatch to allow Ace to embark. It sat there, waiting for Jake to climb inside. Lincoln looked at David. Instead of saying anything, the larger man gestured for Jake to get inside his new Titan.

Taking a deep breath, Jake climbed into the Pilot's seat, getting into the most comfortable position he could manage. Exhaling slowly, he brought out his A.I. chip and slotted it neatly into a port on the upper-right hand side of the cockpit. The hatch closed, and Jake was plunged into darkness.

Instead of showing him his immediate surroundings, the screen in front of him lit up with all kinds of download information. Progress bars were rapidly filled, and letters and numbers streamed from the bottom of the screen to the top in their dozens in the span of a few seconds.

After another few seconds of waiting, a dull whirring noise surrounded him, and Jake watched as the screen went black again, then four words appeared on the screen.

'Operating System Installation Complete'

 _"Greetings, Pilot."_ A deep voice announced using Jake's helmet radio. _"I am SP-4D35, your new Titan."_ The voice was British, and carried a tone that seemed polite and upper-class, though the robotic undertones were obvious if he listened closely.

Jake grinned in excitement. This was it!

"SP-4D35? That's quite a mouthful, wouldn't you say?" Jake said aloud, hoping the Titan would hear him and he wouldn't just embarrass himself.

 _"Of course, Pilot. Would you like to give me a new designation?"_ The voice asked.

"Uh, sure." Jake replied.

 _"Please say a new designation for my Operating System."_ It told him.

"Spades." Jake said to the darkness, as clearly as he could. Jake thought it was an easier way of saying SP-4D35. Besides, if he was going to be 'Ace', it worked even better. 'Ace' of 'Spades'. Jake laughed at that.

 _"Designation accepted. This unit is now known as;_ 'Spades'." It said in a rather flat voice. _"Beginning systems diagnostic."_ Spades announced. _"Protocol One; link to Pilot. Re-routing ocular vision systems to main screen."_

Immediately, the screen in front of Jake displayed his surroundings, and he was surprised to see that David's Ogre had placed itself directly in front of him, it's 'eye' looking the Atlas up and down.

 _"Arming utilities."_ Spades said. _"Vortex shield, online. Slaved Warheads, online."_

"Okay, Jake. We're going to take this slowly, got it?" David said through Jake's helmet radio.

Jake cracked his knuckles, and was amazed to see his Titan do the same. He laughed at the odd movement by the large machine, but quickly regained a serious composure.

"Good to see the motor functions are already online. That means your OS has downloaded into the SERE kit. You can take the chip out of the slot, if you like." David told him. "It'll be useful to keep if this chassis gets destroyed in battle for some reason. We can put it into a new chassis with the same A.I. for you to link to."

Jake nodded and did just that, reaching up to where he had placed the chip into the slot, and returned the item into his pocket.

"Movement systems are pretty similar to what they are in the sims, but they're slightly different. Don't ask me why, because I don't know. That's just the way it is." David said in a slightly bored tone. His Titan stepped back a few paces, and Jake looked around the hangar using a control stick at the end of one of his arm rests.

"Alright, Ace. Start walking towards me, carefully. Your neural link between you and your Titan is still fresh, it'll take some getting used to." David told him.

 _"Do not worry, Pilot, I know our boundaries."_ Spades informed Jake in a reassuring manner.

"Thanks, Spades." Lincoln muttered.

 _"You are welcome, Pilot."_

Slowly but steadily, Jake began to walk over to David's Ogre using his controls inside the cockpit. The neural link between Pilot and Titan assisted in the movement, and helped Jake's mobility by predicting the next moves he was going to make.

"That's it, Jake. Not bad." David told him. "Now, next we're going to analyse your reaction times..."

 **VIIIIIV**

A few hours later, the pair of Pilots returned to Hazard Squad's barracks, having returned their Titans to engineering to be mounted on the racks in case of need for Titanfall.

"That wasn't bad for a first go-around. You and your Titan did pretty well on the obstacle course. I'd say you're ready for the final assessment tomorrow." David told Jake.

Lincoln's face lit up, and he patted Turner on the shoulder.

"Thanks, Lurch. Now, about the assessment. What does that actually involve?" Jake asked with furrowed eyebrows.

"Well, it'll be part of a larger group activity with the rest of Hazard Squad. Your performance will be judged by other members of the team, and then the Captain will make a final decision based on their judgements." David explained.

"Sounds simple enough." Jake thought.

"Easier said than done, Lincoln. They're a hard bunch to impress, I can tell you that much. It'll be in a simulation, but we'll be competing against another Squad for added difficulty."

"In other words; I've got my work cut out for me." Jake realised.

"Yeah." David admitted. "But at least you're not doing it alone. We'll be right there with you."

Jake nodded, a smirk on his lips.

"So which squad do we go up against?" He asked.

"No idea." David informed him, shrugging. "It's always kept a secret, so we can't prepare. It helps to mirror the actual unpredictability of real battles."

Ace nodded. "Makes sense, I suppose."

"Yeah, but for now all we need to worry about is dinner." He smiled. "I'm gonna be pissed if they've started without us."

"It's bad manners." Lincoln laughed.

"Pilots aren't known for their etiquettes, Jake. We'd better hurry up." Lurch smiled.

"Oh, my God - you _can_ smile!" Jake teased; he got a swift punch in the arm for that. It was only a playful hit, but it still hurt.

"Don't tell anyone." David joked.

 **VIIIIIV**

"Wake up, ladies!" A voice shouted, snapping Lincoln out of a _very_ pleasant dream involving himself and the beautiful nurse from yesterday.

Immediately, Hazard Squad's Barracks was a flurry of motion. Pilots were rushing to get out of their beds and stand in front of their footlockers. Of course, Jake had seen this many times whilst he was a Grunt, and so he knew that punishment for not standing to attention at morning call was harsh indeed.

"Captain on deck!" Someone bellowed when all of Hazard had finished standing at the ends of their beds. It took about ten seconds, all said and done.

"At ease, Pilots." Captain Tapley ordered. The members of Hazard squad returned to a more comfortable position, staring into the middle-distance in front of them. "As you all know, today Hazard will be competing against another first response Pilot squad in a simulated battle. I have just been informed by Spyglass that we'll be facing Nickel Squad."

A few of the Pilots shuffled uncomfortably. Jake shot a quick look to David, but was surprised to see the other man impassive to the comment.

"Some of you may be unaware that this simulation will also serve as the final assessment for Jake Lincoln." The Captain continued. Jake stared ahead and clenched his jaw, but he could feel the eyes of Hazard Squad fall upon him, if only fleetingly. "I expect nothing less than your best, Hazard. Gear up in five! Fall out!" He bellowed as he turned and walked out of the door to the barracks.

Jake breathed out and turned to open his footlocker. As he started to equip his Pilot armour, he began psyching himself up. _This_ was it. _This_ was his time. This simulation had the potential to prove whether he was truly ready to become a Pilot or not.

Jake had never felt more ready for anything in his life.

 **VIIIIIV**

Aboard the IMC Argonaut, the squads Hazard and Nickel were preparing for simulated Pilot combat. A scenario would be chosen and one team had to destroy the other. Jake looked around nervously, looking at the ten or so members of the squad.

"Alright, Hazard, we're going to be the drop team." Captain Tapley announced, leaned over a small holo-table. Another Captain stood beside him, watching Hazard carefully. "Nickel team is already integrated and will be the aggressor team." He nodded to the other Captain, who stepped forward towards Hazard.

"I am Captain Walls; I'm in command of Nickel." His deep voice rumbled over everyone. The rough beard and permanently furrowed brow proved an intimidating sight. "I hope that you provide us good training, and vice versa."

Jake nodded in understanding, more to himself than anything. He glanced over to David, who stood there, stoic as ever.

"Now, you'll be briefed in your pods, as in most situations with heavy drops, we know little about the situation on the ground. Once you hit dirt; evaluate and report." Tapley pushed away from the table to pace over to his team, a small smirk on his face. He made deliberate eye contact with each and every member of the squad. Jake could almost feel his pride as he looked upon them all. "Then I want you to hunt and destroy the opposing Titans, Pilots and any resistance. Am I clear?"

"Sir, yes sir!" The Pilots spoke in unison before moving to their respective simulation pods.

As the Pilots embarked into the simulation, David paused next to one and pointed to it. Jake followed his finger and exhaled nervously.

"Alright, Ace, this one is yours. It may be a training sim; but treat this as a real combat scenario. Nickel won't hold back on us." Jake nodded as he clambered into the pod. "Good luck, Jake." David nodded one last time before making his way to an available pod.

Jake sealed the hatch, slotting Spades' data chip into a slot above him after he had settled himself; the articulated English voice came through the speakers, beginning with basic integration procedures, he lead up to the final checks before the green diodes finally came to life before linking his neural system into the simulation.

Jake's world exploded into white, an environment quickly forming faster than the training sims he had experienced so far. Lincoln was greeted with the clear view of a Titan drop deck. Members of the crew rushed around the drop deck, trying to finish last minute adjustments or strapping things down, ready for the sudden decompression from the sub-orbital drop. The nerves in Jakes came to a head and he suddenly felt a little queasy, but he squeezed his eyes closed as a sick feeling began to build in his stomach. Lincoln forced the nausea quickly; it wouldn't give the evaluators the best first impression if he vomited before they even dropped.

"Hey, Lincoln!" A helmeted face of a Commander appeared on a display in his HUD.

"Yes, ma'am?" Jake answered, his sickness suppressed to the point where he could speak comfortably.

"Good luck, kid." She cooed. There was a chorus of 'awws' from the team frequency. Jake was thankful for the helmet so the other Pilot's wouldn't see him go a light shade of crimson at the kind words. "This is your first combat sim with another Pilot team. Show us what Lurch taught you, and maybe you can keep the name 'Ace'." She jested, almost teasing him with her words.

A series of whoops and hollers could be heard echoing throughout the drop deck from the other Titans. Jake smiled; these Pilots were a loud lot.

"Alright, Pilots!" Captain Tapley's voice called. "You are dropping hot onto an active combat zone! Militia insurgents are destroying a colony, trying to uproot a garrison. The colony is split between friendly colonists and Militia implants. We lost contact with garrison command seventeen hours ago. Expect anywhere from forty to seventy percent casualties in IMC tags." The pods had grown silent; the sim was a depressing one. "Prepare for Titanfall!"

Deep thunks echoed against Jake's Titan as it was mag-locked to the racks, and could only imagine the floor sliding away from under him. A small countdown timer had been ticking away, and looked as the indicative lights turned from red to amber to green then disappeared completely.

Jake gasped as the mag-lock disengaged and the Titan began its plummeting to the planet below. He floated in zero-gravity for the briefest moment, but crashed back into his seat as they entered the last layer of the atmosphere surrounding the colony. Ace snapped his gaze to the monitors that gave him a view of what the Titan saw, watching the other members of Hazard fall alongside him in the silence. It was almost peaceful - these powerful engines of war at the complete mercy of this colony's gravity. Brief glimpses of the stars and the lunar orb hanging in the blackness of space put Jake at ease before he looked to the planet below. The ground was fast approaching, and the clouds parted to herald the arrival of the death machines raining from the heavens.

Jake began to embrace the sense of euphoria as the ground came into view, no longer obscured by the clouds. He glanced at the altimeter on his dash. Six thousand feet and dropping – fast. He scanned the frozen tundra's below, searching it for any sign of their dropzone. Expansive mountain ranges, capped with snow, decorated the landscape. A brown and grey town stuck out of the beautiful landscape like a sore thumb, and Jake exhaled as the altimeter dropped to two thousand feet. This was it. In those final seconds, he realised that this was his moment to prove himself and grab his dreams by the balls.

The Titan slammed into the ground, and Jake snapped his eyes around as the dust settled and the other war machines joined him. Time to take back what was theirs.

 **VIIIIIV**

The last of the Titan's slammed into the snow just outside the colony, immediately coming under fire from the infantry closest to them. Jake instantly raised his vortex shield, catching the bullets in mid-air to be redirected at the Militia targets whenever he released his hold on them.

"Small-arms fire! Spread out and suppress! Give me four teams, on the double!" Commander Miller swiftly ordered as his Titan rotated south, shooting at any resistance with his Arc Cannon. "First and fourth teams will head to the Garrison and reinforce their position. Second team will go to the supply depot to secure or scuttle any weapons or munitions! Third team will head to the comms relay and take it back!"

" _Our objective is two kilometres west of our current location, Pilot. Please proceed with caution; I detect numerous enemy signatures between us and it."_ Spades told Jake.

"Thanks, Spades. Any Titans?" Lincoln inquired, worried about running into the entirety of Nickel with minimal back-up with him.

" _I detect no hostile Titans at this time."_ The articulated British voice replied.

"Let's move it, Pilots!" A voice hollered over their shared comms. Jake flinched at the sudden interruption to his thoughts, but flicked a switch on top of his interface, tuning into team two's frequency.

"Let's do this thing." He grimaced; Jake could already feel himself shaking slightly with the exhilaration of his first Pilot battle, even if it was just a simulation.

The group of twelve Titans split up and they all lumbered in the appropriate directions. Lincoln, David, and two others made up the second team. Their weapons never stopped firing as they hurriedly marched west towards the colony's arms depot. The M-COR infantry didn't stand a chance against the four Titans.

" _Pilot Lincoln, my analysis of Pilot Turner's vitals indicate an excess amount of serotonin in his brain chemicals. He is… angry."_ Spades said, matter-of-factly.

"He's fighting the Militia, Spades. Of course he's gonna be pissed, Jake said as he reloaded his chaingun.

" _Incorrect. This assumption does not account for a chemical imbalance of gamma-aminobutyric acid, resulting in heightened levels of anxiety since dropping onto this colony."_ The A.I. retorted.

"What are you saying?"

" _There is something he is not telling us, Pilot."_ Spades summarised.

Jake's head was spinning, the adrenaline in his system at an all-time high. His brow creased in thought as he followed Lurch, acting as his support, watching his rear in case of a flanking manoeuvre. It was chaotic, and the small-arms fire from the Grunts never ceased, but neither did the lumbering machines, pushing forward as they made steady progress towards their objective through a residential district. Jake was slightly concerned that they hadn't encountered any of Nickel Squad yet, but he supposed they would cross that bridge when they came to it.

" _Pilot, I am detecting a sharp increase in Pilot Turner's pulse. Something is wrong."_ Spades spoke up again. Jake was about to tell him to focus on the battle, but something cut that thought off as soon as it had appeared.

Suddenly, David's Ogre used its dash function to thrust sideways into a three-story building, his own immense weight crumbling the poorly produced structure to rubble in seconds. Clouds of dust spewed up and Jake cried out for his friend. Lincoln moved forward to take the vanguard position David had held moments before, raising his Vortex Shield to block the incoming projectiles.

"Lurch!" Jake called out.

"David!" Another voice exclaimed on their shared frequency.

As the dust started to settle, Jake glanced over to the capsized Titan. Lincoln took a short breath when he saw David slowly righting himself, standing up, and staring at the building opposite to him. Jake looked at the building in question, studying it for damage. The building across the street was fine. It was pockmarked with bullet-holes, sure, but otherwise it was still intact. Jake released his shield and returned fire as another Titan hefted Turner to his feet.

"You okay, Lurch?" One of the other Pilots asked.

But David ignored his team's questions, as his Titan started making its way down the street again, retaking the vanguard position from Jake. There were some far off explosions, probably signifying a Titan-to-Titan engagement between Hazard and Nickel. Jake hoped his squad-mates were holding their own well enough, and was about to order Spades to keep a watch on the distress signal channel when David suddenly cried out.

"Mortars! Get to cover!"

"What?" Jake asked, confused, looking up. There weren't any tell-tale trails in the sky, and there hadn't been any booms signalling mortar fire. What was David talking about?

"Shit! Mortars?" Another Pilot exclaimed, taking cover behind a building. Jake manoeuvred to angle himself next to a sturdy high-rise, just in case. After a few moments, nothing happened, and Lincoln peeked back out of his rudimentary cover.

David was gone.

 **VIIIIIV**

"David! Where are you going? What the fuck are you doing?! Stick to the plan!" Jake questioned David directly on a private channel. It was no use. Lurch had shut down all communications, he'd blocked his Titan's incoming frequencies, but his communicator was still online. At least Lincoln knew he wasn't dead. Yet.

A few more blocks down the road was all that was left before they reached their objective. The remaining three Pilots pushed on, they'd handle whatever David was doing later. Right now, they had a mission to complete. David returned his frequency to his team. The other two Pilots, Arral and Fath were bickering between themselves, mostly complaining about wherever David was going.

"We should go after him. Pilots stick together." One of them said.

"We can't risk it. We're on a strict time schedule." The other replied. "Maybe we'll meet David there."

"That's bullshit and you know it, Arral." The other angrily retorted. "Something's up with Lurch."

"I agree." Jake cut in, taking charge of the conversation. "I say we split up. You two get to the objective. Intel says it isn't heavily fortified anyway, two Titans should be able to manage."

"What about Lurch?"

" _I'll handle it_. I'll get after David and bring him back. If he comes across more enemy Titans in the state that he's in, he'll probably be eliminated, and then we'll be in the shit with Tapley. I'll find out what's wrong with him. You two need to get moving." Lincoln retorted.

"But-"

" _Now,_ Fath." With that, Jake turned in the direction of David's last known location and began sprinting towards his IFF signature, eager to catch up.

"Spades, keep trying to raise David, get a message through to him that I'm coming." Jake ordered.

" _Of course, Pilot."_ His A.I. replied. _"I suggest haste; scans indicate that David has engaged a hostile Titan. Hurry."_ The last word almost seemed to be an order rather than a suggestion.

 **VIIIIIV**

Jake watched in horror as David continued beating on the badly damaged Atlas. The other Pilot cried out as another powered fist from the Ogre crashed into the hull.

"David! What are you doing?" Jake shouted.

" _Contact re-established, Pilot. We can hear him, but he cannot hear us."_

"Good job, Spades. Prepare the Slaved Warheads."

" _Of course, Pilot. I doubt think we will require them though."_ Spades replied.

"What are you-," Jake began, but then refocused on David's Ogre, and stopped in his tracks, lowering his weapon.

David let go of the other Titan's weapon and raised both fists into the air before slamming them onto the shoulder mounts of the Atlas, crushing a rocket pod and dislodging an arm. With the one arm now useless, the Ogre grasped at it and yanked. A horrible metal screeching sound echoed across the snowy wasteland as the appendage left its joint with a shriek and the Atlas flailed wildly as the assault continued.

"Die, you Militia _fuck!"_ David's voice screamed in Jake's ear as the Ogre began clubbing the Atlas with the severed limb - over and over again. The chassis of the hostile Titan was still, the occupant was clearly dead, but that didn't stop David even for a moment.

Then the world went white, the scenery dissolving as the simulation came to an abrupt end, and once more became the inside of a simulation pod. Jake seethed and rubbed his eyes, his brain felt as if it was being squeezed by a vice.

 _"That fucker!"_ A muffled voice roared outside of Jake's pod. Lincoln triggered the simulation pod's manual release, and the hatch hissed open with a small jettison of steam. Jake disembarked as quickly as he could, his nausea already dying down.

Sounds of a fight hit Jake's ears, and he looked around. He was shocked when he saw David whaling on a member of Nickel Squad.

"Fuck!" David's victim cried out as he received a punch in the gut. His eyes fell on David before the nearly feral man jumped at him again.

"Someone restrain him!" A voice bellowed from the other end of the room.

Two Spectre units quickly advanced on the scuffling Pilots, but were suddenly assaulted as David pulled out a deadly-looking knife out of a gauntlet on his left arm. The blade found its mark, causing a deep laceration across one of the Spectre's necks, severing vital electronic functions, causing it to spasm and collapse into a heap of scrap. Other members from both Squads were disembarking their own pods as David downed the other droid with a swift kick to its chest, all but splintering its armoured chest-piece as it too went down with a thud.

The other man David had been beating took his chance to jump onto David's back and put the man in a headlock, trying to choke him out. David swung his head back, whacking his assailant just above his right eye, a loud crack signalling that _something_ had been broken. The man cried in pain as he reeled. He let go of David as he stepped back and looked at his gut. Jake gasped in horror.

Just above the man's hip, David's blade was buried almost halfway to the hilt. David was drawing another blade from some other sheath on his body. Jake realised with a creeping sense of dread that David meant to murder this man. The glassy look in his eyes told Jake everything he didn't want to know - David was _gone_ , replaced by this brutal and violent animal.

Without hesitating, Jake ran at Turner, grabbing the arm holding the second knife, Jake twisted his appendage to hold behind David's back.

"I got his arm! Get that knife!" Lincoln cried out.

The man that David had stabbed crawled away as more shouts erupted from in front of them. A security officer entered the room, holding a shock baton and a Taser in either hand. Jake peeked over his David's shoulder arm to see the officer fire the prongs into David's exposed skin on his arms. With a surge of electricity, Jake let go of his mentor and David fell to the ground, convulsing slightly on the floor. The security officer and another Spectre picked Turner up by an arm each, and hauled him out of the door. By now, the rest of Hazard had left their pods and were all watching in rapt fascination as the big man was dragged out of the pod bay.

"Get him into confinement, and someone fetch a doctor to look at Conboy!" Captain Tapley ordered gravely. Jake didn't hear him though, he was breathing hard and watching in slow motion as David was dragged away. His feet seemed to feel rooted to the floor, and Ace swallowed the lump in his throat.

Looks like David just cost him his Pilot certification.

 **VIIIIIV**

A few hours later, the _Argonaut_ hanging low above the planet Victor, Jake walked into the ship's brig, a warden escorting him to David's detention cell. The other Pilot seemed to be a million miles away, lost in thought.

"Turner," Jake breathed out, trying to grab his attention. The bigger man had an ashen face and he stared at the ground. "Lurch?" Lincoln asked as he drew closer to the holding cell. Turner didn't react to his attempt to communicate, still staring at a random point on the ground.

"David." Jake hardened his tone a little, doing his best to draw his friend's attention away from his daydreams. "What the _hell_ was all that about, mate?"

"Is he okay?" Turner asked the ground. Jake sighed.

"Yeah, you sure as hell did a number on the poor bugger, but he'll be fine." Jake informed him. "You mind telling me why you _stabbed_ him?"

David sighed and sat back, shifting his gaze to look at his hands instead.

"It's a long story." He replied.

Jake sat down on a bench outside the cell and looked around the brig. "I don't think you're going anywhere soon." He offered a small smile. David's mood didn't change; he shook his head, as if wrestling with his conscience.

"Fine. You really wanna know?" David asked, looking at Jake for the first time since he'd walked in. There was a fire in David's eyes, and Jake wondered whether it was the right thing to do to pursue the answers if it caused David this much pain.

Jake just nodded, a serious look on his face.

Turner clenched his jaw. "Okay, you asked for it. Remember that." Jake nodded again, waiting for Turner to begin. He exhaled slowly. "The colony that that sim took place on? That was my home once."

Lincoln remained stoic, that didn't answer his question. "Not anymore?"

"No. The Militia did a number on it a few years back. I won't tell you the details, not yet, but I lost my _whole family_ that day, except one. I saw them _die_ , Jake." David paused, swallowing a lump in his throat. "Those terrorists destroyed my home, and killed my family. And he _knew_ what happened, what it did to me. That bastard _knew_ what would happen if he chose that sim. But he did it anyway."

"Is that why you stabbed him?" Lincoln asked. He wasn't about to offer David an apology for raising the difficult subject matter. He'd probably had enough of those. Jake was no stranger to tragedy either, but he knew that condolences were just empty words after something like that happened. They didn't change a damn thing.

"I don't know." Lurch replied, shaking his head. "I… lost control, I wasn't thinking straight. I made a mistake." He stared right at Jake then. And Lincoln felt as though he wasn't looking at him, so much as through him. "But I won't apologise for what I did, Ace. He knew what would happen if he chose that sim. If anything, he owes _me_ an apology."

Jake said nothing. He was no therapist, but he'd have to be blind to not see that there was a lot of anger surrounding this subject with David. He didn't want to push him, but Jake knew that David wouldn't open up like this again to him.

"I don't expect you to, David, but you're lucky to not get a court-martial. The Captain's put his ass on the line for you. Nickel have agreed to keep quiet about it, but they have to know you're good before they let you out of here." Jake explained. Turner returned his gaze to the floor.

"So; you good?" Jake asked, standing up from the bench.

David said nothing for a moment, but stood up too. Eventually, he nodded.

"Yeah." He whispered. "Yeah, I'm good. Sorry I ruined your assessment." David smiled half-heartedly.

"Eh, don't worry about it. We can reschedule, I guess." Jake beamed, a genuine smile on his face.

Suddenly, klaxons blared, and their comm-units immediately began blaring with alarms and distress signals. Jake's eyes widened, and the pair of them slid on their helmets, turning to the door to run as fast as they could to the drop bay.

 _"Ace, Lurch! Get to the shuttle bay! It's the Militia, they're here."_ Captain Tapley ordered over their comms.

"What are they doing on Victor, sir?" Jake asked.

 _"Graves was right, they want our fuel."_ The Captain responded.

"Shit." Jake muttered.

 _"Get here now, Pilots, we're waiting on you."_

 **VIIIIIV**

 **Author's Note:**

 **Well guys, I hope you enjoyed reading this second chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. I'll try to be a bit more productive in the next few chapters, and try to keep to this kind of length for each update. I hope you have a nice Christmas, and a great New Year. See you all, next year. If you want to read this chapter from David's perspective, you can read it in the next chapter of Razzack's story, 'Banners of Hatred'. We're writing our stories parallel to each other, and the end of this chapter leads into the first mission of the first game.**

 **Now, onto the replies!**

 **A Drunk Canadian:**

 _ **Well well, color me impressed and intrigued. I think you have something good going on here mate. Favorited and followed. Can't wait for more**_

 **Reply:**

 **Thank you so much! I was a huge fan of the first game and always knew I wanted to write a story about it, although there wasn't much substance to the story mode, if you could call it that. :D**

 **Love the pen name, by the way!**

 **Golden Sheath:**

 _ **Wow, that was good. This has serious potential. Please update**_

 **Reply:**

 **Here's another chapter for you, Sheath. I'm trying to stick to a more regular update schedule now. One chapter per month, hopefully.**

 **Rai 24:**

 _ **Finally another Titanfall story! Ever since the release of Titanfall 2 I've become a huge fan of the franchise! I have also become a fan of the IMC, so reading stories like this is a huge bonus for me! I will be following and reading this story as it progresses!**_

 _ **P.S Me and some other people are working on a big project, who wouldn't want their own Titan ;) ;)**_

 **Reply:**

 **I know, you don't see too many IMC stories these days, even though they are a huge part of the lore of the franchise. If you want more IMC goodness, check out 'Banners of Hatred', that story is; A) better than mine, and B) from the perspective of another character featured in this story.**

 **Say hi for me!**

 **D608:**

 _ **Nice touch with the sympathy and empathy felt by Lincoln, really added to the story line. The combat and description was very well written as well nicely done.**_

 _ **I can safely say you got a lot of detail and background study in this story. It's an enjoyable read this far very well done. Oh, and hope you get a new job and college doesn't tire you down. Take care and keep up the good writing!**_

 **Reply:**

 **Yeah, I'm trying to write Lincoln to be a human being, who doesn't like the idea of killing as many people as being a Pilot requires. He'll probably lose this aspect eventually, desensitised to the violence of the Frontier eventually. I have very big plans for him. As for the detail in the story, I like to read into the lore and story elements of the games as I write, so it paints a better picture for you, the reader.**

 **Danii2:**

 _ **Haven't read the whole first chap yet since it's so long and I don't have enough time, but I'm faving you so I can come back asap. Look promising!**_

 **Reply:**

 **Well, thank you very much, here's another chapter for you to catch up on! XD**

 **Thanks for reading everyone. See you next month!**

 **See you on the Frontier, Pilots.**


	4. Chapter III - Baptism By Fire

The Brotherhood of Battle:

Chapter 3:

Baptism by Fire

Another explosion rattled the _Argonaut_ , shaking the entire ship, nearly knocking Lincoln off his feet for third time that minute. Turner grabbed his arm and heaved him back up, pressing on towards the shuttle bay. They ran as fast as they could through the grey and white corridors, rushing past Grunts and crew members without a second thought.

" _Code red! Militia forces detected. All units; please report to your commanding officer for deployment assignments. Pilots squads Dragon, Viking and Tiger, proceed to Titan drop bays for heavy reinforcement duties."_ The Captain's voice called out over the loudspeakers of the _Argonaut_.

As the ship rocked with the force of each explosion, Jake picked up his speed, desperate to get to the hangar. There wouldn't be time to get to the Titan drop bay, the chassis' would have to be outfitted for the drop, and there was no telling how long that would take. But it would be too long, no matter how soon they were ready, the Militia would have control of the fuel depot by then. The Pilots had to be on the ground before that happened, and maintain what was theirs.

As the duo finally reached the hangar, Jake could see Hazard loading into two different dropships, both were ready to take off at any moment, and Jake began making his way to the less crowded ship. He was next to the Titan drop bay when a voice came from behind them, making Jake stop in his tracks.

"Lieutenant Turner, I need you for a minute. PFC Lincoln, you hold back too." Captain Tapley called out to the pair.

David made his way towards the team leader, and Jake moved away from the dropship, sitting on a crate that sat between the racks that held the chassis' of Hannah and Spades, oddly enough. Jake couldn't make out the whispers going on between the pair of Pilots, and so took out his sidearm and checked its condition, it looked like they'd be dropping sooner or later, so a routine check of his equipment was in order. He'd barely had enough time to check the sight alignment before he heard a dull thud next to him. Jake looked round to witness the loud groans of a large Ogre Titan moving towards him. The noise made by the machine was barely registered by the crew running to and fro around the hangar, and her movements weren't heard above the rocking explosions and debris hitting the Argonaut every so often.

"Pilot Lincoln." Hannah's voice transmitted over a private comm. Jake looked up at the Ogre, and took a step back when he saw her kneeling in front of him. A massive fist rested on the deck plates and her other forearm was across her knee.

"Yes?" He managed to get out. He watched as Hannah's optic swivelled towards David before refocusing on Jake.

"Ich werde nicht zuerst auf dem Boden sein, ich erwarte, dass Sie über meinen Piloten wachen, bis wir gelandet sind. Ist das verstanden?" For extra measure she raised her arm off her knee and with one of her rather massive fingers poked Jake in the chest, which was more of his whole torso.

The in-built translator in Jake's helmet translated her speech to him, but the message she was putting across was obvious enough. _'I will not be on the ground first, I expect you to watch over my Pilot until we have landed. Is this understood?'_

Her hand quickly retracted and it opened up to wave in the direction of Turner and Tapley. The former had a hand on his hip and the latter had his arms crossed. Jake nodded his understanding as Lurch made his way back over to the pair. David didn't even question it as he approached the pair. He had something clutched in his one hand and when he reached them he looked up at the Ogre and nodded to her.

"Come here, Jake." David ordered. When Lincoln complied he wasn't ready for Turner's massive palm to slam his chest. "Congratulations, Pilot." David droned as he patted the spot a few times.

Jake looked down to see what the other man was doing, and that was when he saw the gold emblem pinned to his apparel. A Pilot's sigil. Jake smiled, but for some reason, the object felt wrong on his body, as if he hadn't really earned the right to wear it. He'd technically failed the assessment when David's actions had triggered a shutdown failsafe. His thoughts were interrupted when he heard the voice of the Vice Admiral echoing around the hangar.

"Are you-" Jake attempted before the words caught in his throat, and he had to try to form his words again. "You're not joking with me, are you?"

David looked over to his Titan briefly before replying sternly. "No, now get on the damn ship, Pilot." Jake nodded and hastily made his way towards the waiting dropship.

" _All personnel, this is Vice Admiral Graves."_ The voice of the IMC General announced on the ship's PA system _. "We have a rare opportunity to destroy an entire Militia fleet. We know these terrorists are almost out of fuel, but desperation will make them unpredictable. Do not underestimate them. You are cleared weapons free for this operation."_ He told them, the grim determination clear in his voice.

By now, Jake and Turner were loading onto the second dropship that contained the Pilots of Hazard Squad; its engines already spun up and ready to depart. Fath, White and Miller briefly looked up to see the two men jump into the belly of the vehicle. None of them said anything; they simply went back to readying their equipment. Lincoln quickly realised that he was unarmed, save for his sidearm. He looked around for a spare firearm as the dropship left the hangar, launching out of the ship and down to the planet below.

"Oi, Pilot." A heavily accented voice spoke up from the bow end of the small ship. Jake looked over, and saw the shadowy figure of Kuben Blisk walking over, a C.A.R. SMG in one hand, another gun in the other. The brutish man offered Jake the first weapon, similarly providing David with the second; a Hemlok burst-rifle. "Gear up; I'll be overseeing the operation of this mission."

Jake just nodded and went about checking the rest of his equipment. Luckily, he'd had his sidearm on him at the time they were attacked, the B3 Wingman he had… _'procured'_ from the corpse of the first Militia Pilot he'd defeated, back at the IMC outpost. That already felt like a lifetime ago, though it had been little more than a fortnight since Tapley had recruited him and he'd been taken under David's wing. He didn't have any ordinance or an Anti-Titan weapon, so he'd have to steer clear of the death machines and focus on crowd control instead; eliminating as many enemy infantry units as he could until Spades was ready for Titanfall.

"Lincoln!" Blisk grabbed Jake's attention, prodding the golden pin on his chest. His rough jabbing hurt a little, but Ace didn't show it. Jake looked at the mercenary questioningly. "It's your certification, Pilot. You passed the assessment, before your mentor mucked it up for you, that is." Blisk explained, shooting Turner a dangerous glance.

"Thank you, sir." Jake saluted, but Blisk just scoffed in amusement at the gesture – clearly unimpressed.

"Prove you're commendable of the honour of being called a Pilot today, and then _maybe_ you'll be worth something to me." Blisk informed Lincoln with a cruel smile. "I've seen hundreds of Pilots just like you die on their first battles. You kill those Militia bastards first, you're better. They kill you, they're better." Blisk turned and marched back to his original position at the front end of the ship.

Ace looked over to Lurch, who just shrugged.

"What an asshole." Lincoln muttered under his breath.

Jake looked out of the starboard window, offering a view of the orbital battle being conducted between the M-COR and IMC. It was chaos out there, volleys of anti-material missiles impacting on dreadnoughts, and giant slugs thudding into the hulls of ships almost constantly. Every so often, a ship would break apart, signalling its defeat at the hands of its attacker. There were no explosions, no deep thundering booms, just the ship splitting into little pieces and floating away. Jake swallowed nervously, feeling a dull thump as the ship entered the colony's planet's orbit. He knew that every destroyed carrier, dreadnought or liveship meant more deaths in this god-forsaken war. Another thousand or so hands lost to the black void of space every time a ship broke apart. It was a terrible price to pay for so little gain, as it was with all wars.

His mind snapped back to the present as the small ship rocked with turbulence, and Ace felt his stomach doing backflips as the sounds of battle drew closer. Far off gunfire and explosions could be heard, growing closer with every passing second. Clearly, the Militia was already here in force, and Jake suspected that the battle was going their way – for now. They'd caught the IMC off-guard, and if Graves hadn't stationed his battle groups above Victor, Jake knew there'd be no chance of stopping the terrorists from achieving their goal. At least this way, even if they were slightly outnumbered, they still had a chance of defeating them. The IMC was better equipped after all, funded by the juggernaut Hammond Industries that held significant stake back in the core system.

"Hazard Squad, report in, how copy?" Jake heard Tapley order over the radio.

"White, good to go."

"Roe." A lively female voice said over the radio, obviously present in Hazard's second ship that would meet Jake's ship on the battlefield. "Ready for insertion."

Miller elbowed Jake and smiled at that, the innuendo obvious. Jake smiled politely, although he didn't find the joke funny; he was focused on more than Miller's lewd sense of humour at that moment.

"Lincoln, ready." He reported when it was his turn, a host of other voices reported in before and after him, and the Pilot looked to David as the final few names called in.

"Turner, ready." He said in a neutral tone. Jake silently wondered if David was still focused on the simulation earlier that day, and how he'd stabbed a comrade right after.

"Miller, solid copy. All Pilots are present and accounted for." Miller reported when all the names had been counted.

Jake briefly thought back to his 'friendly chat' with Hannah just minutes beforehand, but quickly regained focus as Tapley began his mission briefing.

"You all know what we're here for, Hazard. In space, fuel _is_ life, and the Militia fleet is running low. Only seven planets in the Yuma system can replenish a fleet of that size, this is one of them. We've set up anti-air turrets at various hardpoints. Hazard has been tasked with defending the terminals and to keep those turrets operational, we have to guard the specialist Grunts operating the terminals, and keep the Militia away from them at all costs. Everyone understand?"

Unanimous confirmations from Hazard came through the frequency, and suddenly another voice sounded on Jake's comms.

"Sir, our forces have assembled a rally point Alpha." Blisk informed them all on the universal IMC channel.

"Pilots, today we have a unique opportunity to establish peace on the Frontier! Make it count!" Graves told them all as the ship began to rapidly decelerate, opening its rear hatch and extending a ramp for the Pilots to run off of.

Jake exhaled a shaky breath as he looked at the carnage below. He could spot a small mass of Grunts and a couple of Titans preparing to move out onto the battlefield and engage the Militia. Miller began shouting at the Pilots in the Ship.

"Go, go, go!" He barked.

Jake didn't hold back, with a steady resolve he leapt from the vehicle, landing gracefully on the ground with the aid of his jump-kit. He saw the other ship the rest of Hazard had arrived in next to the ship he and Turner had arrived in, and watched as other members of the team jumped from the ramp extended there too.

 **VIIIIIV**

" _All Pilots, secure hardpoints Alpha, Bravo and Charlie!"_ An IMC Titan Captain bellowed from inside the cockpit of an Atlas. _"The rest of you, on me!"_

With that, the mech turned and marched off into battle. Followed by a few dozen Grunts, all geared and ready to face the troops that the Militia had deployed onto the combat zone.

"Three teams of four, Hazard! Split up and capture the hardpoints. Defend those Grunts, they'll do the rest." Tapley ordered before making a few hand signals at some nearby Pilots. Jake looked over to see David running off with two other Pilots, leaping over terrain and scaling buildings with their jump-kits as they made their way towards the objective.

"Move it, Ace!" Someone ordered on the radio, kicking Jake into gear. He sprinted after the three Pilots.

Jake sprinted after them. Using the skills he'd learned in the simulation, he quickly caught up to David and the others, who had stopped just outside of their own objective, Rally Point Bravo. It was already occupied by the Militia, Jake saw, as Grunts from the Marauder Corps were scattered about the complex, sprinting from cover to cover, ready to hunker down and defend the hardpoint.

"They're pretty entrenched, Lurch, what do you want to do?" A female Pilot asked, turning to the big man. Jake looked over to him, and watched as he removed a couple of satchel charges from his ordinance bandolier.

"Roe; get up high, take the first shot when I give the word." He ordered, and the female Pilot suddenly ran off to reach a better viewpoint, overlooking the outpost. "Gregor, Lincoln, we'll charge the hardpoint as soon as Roe is in position. Flush out the Grunts from the terminal so our forces can retake it."

Jake nodded.

"Spades, anything he missed?" Lincoln asked on a private channel.

" _Negative, Turner's plan is sound. I detect no hostile Titans at this time. Please be aware of enemy Pilots, I will not be able to detect their movements. Exercise caution, Pilot."_ The A.I. reported. Jake nodded grimly, feeling his heart race.

"I'm in position." Roe informed the trio from their radio's. "Tell me when, Lurch."

"Ready?" The question was aimed at Jake, who simply nodded in response. David shrugged. "Now, Jackie."

A loud boom ripped across the field, a sniper round burying itself in the chest of a Militia Grunt. The three other Pilots ran out of cover, sprinting at the hardpoint. Grunts were panicking as they were gunned down by the collective efforts of the distant marksman and the assault rifles from the charging Pilots. All of them were killed within seconds, mowed down by the streams of bullets from their weapons. The soldiers barely had time to return fire, and any shots they did manage to get off missed them by a wide margin.

"Roe, keep us covered, report any reinforcements." David ordered, taking charge as they reached the building.

"Will do, boss." She replied.

Jake reloaded his gun, and scanned his surroundings as they approached the building with controlled haste. Gregor took out a frag grenade from his belt, arming it and throwing it into the building. A few seconds went by, and the boom of the frag was followed by a few screams of pain, quickly silenced by the Grunt's deaths.

"Move in, take the objective." David calmly informed them, and the three Pilots did just that, descending the steps into the hardpoint.

Sounds of gunfire and explosions echoed from somewhere else on the battlefield. Distant shouted orders were carried to the trio on the wind, but Jake could hardly hear any of it, he was too focused on his own mission.

"Gregor, set up an uplink to Tac Six. Get some technicians here, on the double." David said as he swept the rooms with his Hemlok.

"Got it." The Pilot replied as he jogged over to the console, slinging his carbine over his shoulder in the process. He began typing in commands into the terminal, and soon enough, Jake could make out Blisk's voice in his ear, a small window in the top right of his visor giving him a view of the man.

"Good work, Pilots, sending reinforcements." Blisk told them. His congratulations sounded hollow to Jake though, as if he didn't care about the outcome of this battle. A dropship could be heard soaring overhead, and soon a group of specialist Grunts entered the room, sitting at various seats around the terminal, their fingers already typing away at the keyboard before they even settled into a comfortable position.

"AA-cannon installation at Bravo is up and working, sir!" One of the Grunts announced. A deep booming directly overhead could be heard through the roof of the building to support the Grunts claim.

"Good work." Blisk told them. "Keep that hardpoint secure. Neutralise any enemy forces that try to recaptur-"

"This is team Zulu Tango One! We're at Charlie, it's being overrun, we need immediate assistance! Repeat, we need hel-" A panicked voice of a Grunt cut off Blisk, the voice turning to static as soon as it had appeared.

Jake looked over in alarm in the direction of the objective, wondering what had happened to the Pilots Hazard had sent there in the first place. A sense of dread began forming in the pit of his stomach. Blisk's voice returned to their comm channel.

"Pilots, get over there and take it back. We need that hardpoint!" He ordered.

"Yes, sir." David acknowledged. "Roe, Ace, I need you two to go to rally point Charlie. Reinforcements are on the way, but they'll need Pilot support. Get going."

Jake wondered why David didn't want to go with him, but he supposed now wasn't a good a time to question his orders. He and Roe began navigating the terrain, making their way to a long stretch of open land with a building in the middle of it. Jake's HUD highlighted it as their next objective, a bright red 'C' projected over its roof. He looked over to the woman, who had stopped and was studying the building with her sniper rifle.

"I don't like this, Jake." She murmured. Her tone suggested that she was puzzled, but he took a few steps forward anyway.

"I agree. Something feels wrong. It's a perfect spot for an ambush." He concurred. Lincoln thought for a few moments, wondering what David would do under the circumstances. A dropship was hanging just above them, dropping of about a dozen or so IMC Grunt reinforcements.

"Stay here, Jackie." He told her. "Cover me."

With that, Ace took off at a sprint, following the wave of Grunts that charged the building. The shuttle that had landed the Grunts here was still hanging in the air near the building, no doubt ready to provide air support if it was needed.

"Alert!" Spades suddenly announced to Jake. "Hostile Titanfall detected!"

Jake's eyes snapped up to the sky, and he stopped dead in his tracks as a fireball slammed into the ground just metres in front of him. The ground shook with its arrival, and small pieces of debris were thrown up into the air, scattering on Jake's body as he was thrown off his feet with the force of the impact.

" _Ace!"_ He heard Roe call out in horror. But her voice was distant, as if she was calling to him while he was submerged in water.

Jake shook his head a few times, and opened his eyes again, realising that the surface of his visor was cracked in some places, and he groaned as he reached for his weapon that had been flung from his grip as he'd fallen. He looked on in horror as a Militia Titan stood up from its hunched position, turning its attention to the wave of Grunts that was not only running _to_ the objective, but now were also running _from_ the hostile Titan. It unleashed a torrent of ammunition from its enormous weapon, and began to cut down the infantry with ease.

"Holy _shit!_ " Jake screamed as he scrambled to his feet, backing away from the hulking object of terror. He frantically looked around for support as the dropship engaged its primary cannon and began pounding the Titan with high-explosive munitions. The small victory was torn away from them, as Jake heard the Pilot call out moments later.

"There's a Pilot locked on to me! I can't shake him. Please assist!" Jake heard the pilot of the supporting dropship plead as an Archer missile was sent flying into her right engine from an unseen Pilot on the roof of the building. A second missile slammed into her right side, igniting the fuel supply, consuming the shuttle in a fiery explosion. Her screaming was cut off as her line went dead.

"Oh, bollocks!" Jake swore as the Titan turned its attention to him. He quickly engaged his active camouflage, and did the only thing he could. He'd never make it to the objective, cut down by the Titan before he'd even made it close to the target building. Instead, Lincoln ran for a nearby building, knowing full well of the possible enemy presence staying there. He had come too far to turn back, and his camouflage would run out before he could get back to Roe. He had no other options.

He pulled the pin from a frag grenade, throwing the explosive through the entrance to the building, running through into the building moments after it had detonated. A few shouts of panic were cut off, and Jake looked around at the interior of the room as his cloak disengaged and he fizzed back into view. Four dead Militia riflemen were strewn about, pieces of shrapnel buried into their bodies. Jake grimaced quickly, disappointed at the needless loss of life. His thoughts were snapped away as he came under fire from an unseen assailant. A few bullets thudded into Lincoln's arms, his Pilot armour only protecting him from the first few shots before a number of them sank into his flesh. Jake cried out in pain as he dove behind the cover of a nearby piece of furniture.

"Son of a bitch!" Jake cursed again. He hoisted up his C.A.R. and peeked above his rudimentary cover once the firing had stopped. Jake let out a burst without aiming, blind firing and hoping to at least hit the as yet unseen hostile.

Blood was pouring from Jake's arm from the wounds. He hastily, drew his sidearm and placed it on his chest as he pulled out some bio-foam from his trauma kit in a pouch on his left thigh. Lincoln uncapped the canister and sprayed some of the foam, which had the same appearance as shaving cream, into the areas where his armour was punctured by the bullets. The foam rapidly hardened and stemmed the flow of blood. A sedative in the foam also relieved some of the pain in his arm. He picked his B3 Wingman back up from his chest and leaned against the bullet-ridden cover of the furniture.

The Pilot was gone, and Roe stood there instead, her pistol sweeping around the room.

"Jake!" She shouted, panic clear in her voice. "Please don't be dead."

"Jackie!" Jake hollered from behind his rudimentary cover, and stood up to greet her. Jackie ran up to him, embracing him in a tight hug. Jake groaned in pain.

"Careful. I'm still tender." He laughed.

"Jesus Christ, Jake. I thought you were dead!"

"I'm fine. But I'll feel it in the morning." Jake jested, ignoring the pain of his injuries. "Come on, we've still got a job to do. Is that Titan still out there?"

"I don't know. I think it went towards Alpha, but I'm not sure." She confessed. "I was more worried about seeing if you were alive."

"Only one way to find out." Jake told her as he began to make his way to the door. Then his world turned white as a rocket salvo was launched at the entrance.

 **VIIIIIV**

Jake gasped for breath as the doorway collapsed in front of him, kicking up a cloud of dust and scattering debris across the ground. He was knocked to his feet, and reached for his SMG as his vision swam. He coughed hard, and his injured arm felt worse than ever. He tried to look around, but the room was dark and dusty,

"Roe, you okay?" Lincoln asked the dark room, hoping that she was still alive.

"I'm in one piece," She laughed slightly, but grunted in pain. "But it looks like that Titan's still there."

"Yeah, no shit." Jake joked as he stood up groggily, feeling the ground vibrate as the Titan outside continued to pound on the door with all of its might.

"Are you okay?" Her voice asked.

"Yeah, course I'm okay. I'm always okay." Jake smiled. "I'm the King of 'okay'." Then he frowned. "Actually, no, don't call me that. That's a rubbish title."

Jackie laughed at that, muttering something about him being an idiot.

"That rubble won't hold forever." Jake realised, looking over to what was left of the door they'd planned to leave through. Now it was just a pile of rocks and debris. "If we're still here when that Titan breaks through, we'll be like fish in a barrel."

"Agreed." Roe concurred as she approached Jake from a dark corner of the room. "We should move. There must be some other way out."

Jake activated the flashlight attached to the side of his helmet, illuminating the room in front of him. He looked around. The room was still settling, dust still slowly falling to the ground. Small pebbles of dirt fell from the ceiling with every shake of the ground, but other than that, it was quiet. Muffled gunfire and explosions sounded a world away from them.

"Come on." Jake told Jackie, who followed the Pilot as he took them to a flight of stairs leading down into the room below them.

A small noise made him pause and he put out a hand to stop Roe from descending the steps. Dull voices could be heard echoing from the floor below them. Jake couldn't make out the words, but he could tell the voices were hurried and alarmed.

"Hear that?" Jake asked her.

Roe nodded. "Think they're friendlies?" Lincoln paused before answering.

"No idea." A wolfish grin appeared on his features. "Let's find out."

Before the other Pilot could ask what he meant, Jake beckoned to the people at the bottom of the stairs.

"Hey, you! Down there!" Immediately, the whispers fell silent and the clicks of weapons being raised replaced their voices. _Well, at least I've got their attention;_ he thought to himself.

"You friendly?" Jake called out. "Identify!"

A few tense moments went by before an answer came.

"I'm Captain Cole. We're with the Third Grenadier Corps. We're looking for enemy Titans!" A deep male voice answered. "Search and destroy mission!" He clarified. Jake rolled his eyes. There was one right outside, they must've been deaf, or…

"Who are you fighting for?" Jake yelled, asking the dreaded question that might end the lives of these Grunts if they answered wrong.

"The Frontier! For the people. We're Militia!"

 _Shit._

Jake was silent, and screwed up his eyes and balled a fist. Damn it. Now, just because of a damn badge he was obligated to kill them. What a waste of life. For all he knew, these men had families they were fighting for. What was he going to do?

"Don't shoot! We're Pilots!" He replied, a sinking feeling rising in his gut. Roe gripped his arm, and Jake knew that she was wondering what the hell he was doing. Jake didn't really know either, but he didn't want to take more lives than he had to today.

"Pilots? _Goddamn_. Hold your fire, men." He ordered his squad, and the clicks of safety locks on their rifles echoed up the stairs.

"Come on down, Pilots. We've got injured. We could use the assist." Cole called up to them.

Jake sighed as he took an Arc Grenade from his bandolier, arming it with a small movement. It wouldn't kill them, but it would knock them out cold. And it'd hurt like a bitch when they woke up, but the pair of them would be long gone before that happened.

With careful precision, Ace tossed the device down the stairs. A few moments went by before the grenade detonated, sending torrents of high voltage electricity in all directions, incapacitating the men below.

"Let's go." Jake told Roe, and they hastily made their way down the flight of stairs.

"Why did you do that, Jake?" Jackie asked him. She didn't seem to be angry that he hadn't killed these men, just surprised. Jake was silent for a while before he answered her.

"I don't know, Jackie. I guess... they deserve better than to be killed in cold blood." Lincoln told her. It wasn't really an explanation, more of an excuse. But Jake wasn't in the right mood to unravel his actions at that moment. He and Jackie had to find another way out of there.

She didn't say anything, and Jake was thankful for that. If it had been David instead of Roe, he probably would've already killed them by now, no matter what Jake thought.

"Come on. Let's get out of here." He said, dismissing the thought. They had a mission to finish, after all.

Lincoln took one last look at the unconscious soldiers before quickly exiting the room, moving on to rejoin their comrades.

 _"Tac-Six to all units, it's a close fight. Let's show 'em who's boss, hey?"_ Blisk broadcasted on the local IMC frequency. Jake grunted in mild annoyance, the mercenary almost sounded like he was enjoying the battle. More focused on the killing than the cause.

The discomfort of his injuries drew a look from Roe, who walked beside him.

"What is it, Ace?" She asked, her tone flat and serious.

"Nothing. Just wondering how the rest of Hazard's doing." He lied.

"Hmm." She hummed. "I'm sure they're doing their jobs, let's do ours, eh?"

"Right." He replied in a flat tone. "How close are we to the objective?"

"Not far." Roe replied as she checked her HUD. "We still need to find a way onto the surface though."

Jake smirked to himself as he looked over to Roe.

"Actually, I've had an idea about that." He told her.

"Oh?" She encouraged, urging him to continue his line of thought.

"I had Spades do a scan on the area, turns out there's a network of tunnels underneath the surface. Only trouble is; a lot of the access points are blocked off because the planet's been sucked dry of resources." Jake reported.

"Really? What are we gonna do then?"

"Well, thanks to that Titan outside, the tremors have knocked some of the doors to the tunnels loose. And, as luck would have it..." Jake smiled as he trailed off, approaching a filing cabinet on the far side of the room.

Feeling for somewhere to grip, Lincoln pulled the cabinet away from the wall, revealing a brick wall that didn't match up to the rest of the drywall that the other walls were made of.

 _"Bingo."_ Roe whispered.

Another tremor shook the room, and a couple of bricks came loose from the wall blocking the passage, falling to the ground. Jackie approached the barricade, placing a Satchel Charge onto the surface.

The two of them took a few paces backwards, and Roe brought up the detonator. Pressing the trigger twice, Jake clenched his teeth as the smaller explosion removed the brick wall, exposing the dark passage beyond.

"Good find." Jackie said. "If we survive this, I'll make sure to _reward_ your ingenuity." She purred.

Her tone sent a shiver through Jake's body, and he watched as she strode into the tunnel with a smirk on his face.

"I should try to have good ideas more often..." He muttered to himself as he followed her lead.

 **VIIIIIV**

"Sir, artillery reports no effect on target. Objective Charlie is too well fortified. The assault wasn't able to rout the Militia there. There's a Titan guarding it." A technician reported to the overseer, who looked upon the battlefield from behind the safety of a screen.

"Roger that. How's the orbital defence going?" The Vice Admiral asked.

"We're winning, sir. But only just. The Militia got the drop on us, but after the last battlegroup joined, we're beginning to push them back."

"What's the status of their flagship? The _Red-Eye?"_ Graves demanded.

"It's taking significant damage, sir. IMC Anti-Orbital Defences are holding at Alpha. Bravo is a work in progress; Turner's team is holding it without too much trouble. But if we can't get a hold of Charlie, the Militia will have the fuel they need within a few minutes." The nervous face of the weapons technician replied.

"Contact the _Hell-Bent._ Tell Captain Oakley that if we can't take Charlie in the next two minutes, send an Orbital Strike and destroy the hardpoint." Graves ordered with a stern tone.

"Sir?" The technician replied, unsure if the Vice-Admiral was serious.

"Do it, Private. It'll be a cold day in Hell before I just let the Militia take our resources." He barked.

The technician nodded, and went to work contacting the other ship. Graves sighed, damning his naivety. He'd hoped that the Militia wouldn't come here. That he'd be wrong. Graves had known people that had defected, in what felt like a lifetime ago. Now they were killing each other, just to survive. He'd never tell anyone, but even he had his doubt about the point of this senseless war.

 **VIIIIIV**

"This is it, Jackie." Jake breathed out as he came to a stop at what seemed like a random point in the tunnel. Roe stopped and turned around to face him.

"You sure?" She asked.

"Definitely. We're right underneath them." He smiled. "They'll never see us coming."

Roe nodded and went about taking out a breaching charge, attaching the plastique to the ceiling of the mineshaft. Suddenly, Jake started having second thoughts.

"Wait, how do we know the tunnel won't collapse on top of us?" Lincoln asked.

Roe simply laughed.

"Don't worry. The corporation that excavated this place knew what they were doing. These tunnels are built to last." Jackie replied. Jake could tell she was smiling, just from her voice. "I'm putting just enough explosives here to give us a way in, but there's nowhere near enough to bring it down on top of us."

She backed away from the charges, a timer on the det-pack counting down from sixty..

"Do you trust me?" She asked, and her helmet swivelled to face him. Her voice wasn't perky it enthusiastic, but it wasn't stern either. She was asking him a very important question, Jake realised, so he should give her an honest answer.

"With my life." Lincoln replied solemnly.

Jackie didn't say anything. She didn't move, instead opting to stare at him through her polarised visor.

"Well, how about that?" She whispered, and gestured for Jake to step back. "You got a plan, Ace?"

"What?"

"A plan. For when we get up there?" She laughed, but then she looked at him with uncertainty. "You _do_ have a plan, _right_?"

Jake shrugged. "I've got something, not sure if you'd call it a plan though."

 _"Jake..."_ She growled.

"Relax. I got this."

Jackie's charges detonated. Jake ran at the opening they created, activating his jump-kit to launch through the hole it made.

 _What could possibly go wrong?_

 **VIIIIIV**

It took less than thirty seconds for the pair of Pilots to rout the Militia inside the building. Their weapons cut down any Grunts inside, caught completely off-guard by the underground insertion. Lincoln barely had enough time to reload before a Pilot was on him, trying to hit him with bare fists. The M-COR Pilot had cast aside his gun, favouring instead to tackle Jake to the ground and assault him physically. Roe called out, but Jake shouted at her to organise the uplink to the IMC. They had to stop the Militia from getting the fuel at all costs. Lincoln managed to throw his opponent off of him, and stand up, lowering himself into a fighting stance. Fists up, elbows lowered and kept close to his core – just like David had taught him.

Jake let out a jab that his adversary managed to deflect just in time, but Ace didn't let up. He quickly followed up with a right hook, to which the Militia Pilot raised an arm to knock back. Jake's opponent took the opportunity to attempt a jab of his own. It was also deflected just in time, with an uppercut that connected to Jake's chest-plate not far behind the initial strike. Jake felt the blow of the punch, even beneath all of his armour and padding, grunting as he registered the dull pain. This one was a strong Pilot indeed, with fist-fighting discipline to match his aggression.

Swinging his right fist at the Pilot, Ace struck the other man with a controlled punch to the stomach, hoping it would wind his opponent and give Jake a wide enough opening to put him down. His fist connected, and the Militia Pilot was knocked back from the devastating blow, but wasn't winded. The man back-pedalled slightly, playing with Jake. The man let off a small chortle of laughter, as if he knew he was just toying with the Pilot, and not even trying to eliminate him.

Lincoln grunted in annoyance, the pain in his arm subsiding from the adrenaline. He glanced over briefly to see Jackie trying to begin the transfer of the objective to Blisk, but her annoyed grunts told him she wasn't having much luck.

Jake had little time to muse why else she might show annoyance, as the man launched himself at him again, initiating another attack. Lincoln ducked under the strike that would have clotheslined him. Ace pivoted on his heel, only to see an armoured fist flying directly at him.

The blow connected, denting the plating on his helmet. Jake grunted, just about managing to stay on his feet. In the meantime, Jake held up his arms in a deflective guard as another jab came towards him. The Pilot felt his gauntlets absorb most of the impact, but he still felt the punch through his under-armour.

" _Goddamn_." He cursed.

Suddenly, the Pilot lunged at Jake, who wasn't ready for the strike and was consequently stabbed by the end of the Data-Knife in his already injured arm. The blade sank deep into his forearm, the end of the knife grating and scratching against his bone. The agony of the wound registered as pain shot up his limb, and Jake recoiled, yelling in distress. This drew Roe's attention from the terminal, and she called out to Lincoln as the man pressed his advantage on him, going in for the killing blow.

Suddenly, an explosion rocked the building, seeming to shake the very ground they stood on, knocking the Militia Pilot off-balance. Doing his best to ignore the excruciating pain in his arm, Jake used the opportunity to counter the attack that had impaled him. Removing the Date Knife from the fleshy sheath it had made in his limb, Jake ran at the Pilot, bringing the blade up to the man's exposed throat. His desperation lended him strength, and Jake yelled as his attack knocked the man off of his feet, the knife embedding itself in the Militia Pilot's neck with a wet sucking sound.

Jake stepped back a few paces, breathing hard. He clutched his wounded and bloody forearm as he stared at the Pilot on the ground, who was squirming and flailing around in a frantic last attempt to stay alive.

Jake couldn't bear to watch the man die in so much pain, and picked up his sidearm from the corner of the room, aiming it squarely at the other Pilot. With a single shot, the bullet pierced the Militia Pilot's helmet, killing him instantly. His form stopped moving, as an unhindered flow of blood began to leak from the wound in his throat, pooling around his still-warm body.

Lincoln shook his head, listening to the sounds of the battle around them, contemplating the atrocity he'd just committed. No matter how he looked at it, he'd just _murdered_ this man. He'd always hated killing, but Jake supposed it was bound to be part of the job if he was going to be a Pilot for the foreseeable future.

"Jake!" Jackie's voice snapped him from his daze, and Lincoln looked over to her. She'd obviously been trying to get his attention for a while, and she looked at him with concern. "Are you okay?" She asked.

"I'll be fine. Don't worry about it." He dismissed her distress quickly. "Have you finished the uplink?" He tried to redirect her attention away from him.

"Yes, I just patched Spyglass into the terminal. AOD's are spinning up outside." She reported.

"What about our reinforcements?" Jake asked.

"They're on their way."

"Good." He nodded. "That's good."

"Are you sure you're okay? This is your first mission and all, it's okay if-"

"Please. Jackie." He cut her off, offering a comforting smile. "I'll be all right. Just give me a minute, alright?"

" _Unfortunately, Pilot, we do have the luxury of time. I detect numerous hostiles incoming."_ Spades reported in Jake's ear.

"Of course we don't…" Jake sighed, exasperated. "How many?"

" _I count thirty-four Grunts hostiles. Scans indicate a damaged Militia Titan additionally."_

"Are you ready to drop, Spades?" Jake asked, knowing this would be the only way to repel the M-COR's counter-attack.

" _Affirmative."_

"Then what are you waiting for?" Jake smirked.

" _Understood. Stand-by for Titanfall."_ Spades informed Ace.

Within seconds, Jake could make out the sounds of his Atlas breaking into the atmosphere from low orbit. He left the building and looked up into the sky to see Spades crash down into the ground, a dome shield springing up around him to protect the chassis. Lincoln smirked as he saw the majestic Titan crash into the ground, as if sent to the planet's surface like a fallen angel. He cast a glance over to the insignia painted on the Titan on its shoulder and chest; an Ace of Spades playing card.

" _Ready to embark, Pilot."_ Spades droned, as Jake ran at his Titan, the hatch opening to allow the Pilot access to the walking tank.

As the hatch closed and the screen came to life in front of him, Jake saw the first of the Militia infantry approach the building, firing their rifles at Jake for all they were worth. Jake smirked as the rounds simply pinged off his Titan's armoured plating, causing minimal damage to his shields and armour. He raised his vortex shield, collecting bullets into the Titan's hand, and redirecting them back at the Grunts, their bodies instantly turned to pulp by the sheer amount of bullets aimed at them.

" _Warning; shield's failing. Re-routing secondary power cells to regen systems."_ Spades reported as the shield surrounding the Titan began to flicker and fizzle out.

Soon, it was gone, and the rounds shot by the Grunts started to damage the chassis itself, though their small-arms fire did very little against the hulking behemoth. Jake wasted no time in unleashing a torrent of lead in the infantry's direction. Over-sized rounds poured from the chain-gun, and thudded into the soldiers with brutal efficiency. In a matter of seconds, the Grunts had all been eliminated, but Spades' systems barely had enough time to restore the machine's shields before the hostile Titan rounded the corner, firing at Jake with a high-explosive 40 MM Cannon that made his Titan stumble.

" _Alert, we are taking fire from a hostile Titan!"_ Spades announced into Jake's ear.

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock." Lincoln muttered as he summoned his Vortex Shield and unleashed a rocket salvo that slammed into the hull of the other Titan. The Ogre didn't let up, and continued to fire at Jake.

Jake dashed to the left, dodging the bullets shot at them, he couldn't do anything to avoid the tracking rockets that the Ogre launched though, and the missiles detonated on the casing of the Titan, obliterating half of his shields and damaging the armoured plating that protected the Pilot.

" _Critical damage, I recommend preparing the manual ejection protocol."_ Spades told Jake, but Ace simply ignored the suggestion.

"No." He retorted. "We can do this, Spades."

In response to the Titan's attack, Jake let off a long burst from his XO-16 chain-gun, ripping into the Ogre's shields, and making the Titan stumble from the overwhelming physical assault. But any sense of victory the Pilot had in his mind was dashed away as the Ogre got up and attacked again, firing its freshly reloaded weapon. In alarm, and no small amount of desperation, Jake raised his Vortex Shield once again.

" _Warning; vortex shield power low!"_ Spades informed Jake, the urgency in the machine's voice was clear.

The vortex shield managed to catch four of the rounds from the other Titan's cannon, before the power to the utility ran out and it collapsed, allowing the rounds to slam into Spades, rather than reflecting them back at the Ogre. The Titan's shields collapsed and the rounds crashed into its hull, heavily damaging the already broken plating, exposing the unprotected areas on it appendages. Jake grunted as he was jostled around by the onslaught of high-explosive ammunition.

" _Spades!"_ Jake called out, desperate. He hoped the A.I. would be able to counter the attacks, but the synthetic intelligence stayed quiet, knowing the futility of any action it could take.

Meanwhile, the Ogre closed in, ready to deliver the final blow that would kill Jake. Ace screwed his eyes closed, not wanting to witness his own fate coming to claim him. His only regret was that he had died on his first mission. He'd let David down somehow, as if his death did nothing more than pester the man who'd mentored him for the past few weeks.

" _Attention, a friendly Titan is engaging your target."_ Spades announced.

Jake's eyes snapped open and he smiled a broad grin as the Ogre turned to face a new adversary.

A small, nimble Stryder Titan emerged from behind the Militia behemoth, unleashing a massive amount of rockets from its shoulder-mounted launcher. The projectiles collided into the machine, and Jake could tell they'd done an enormous amount of damage. The newcomer wasn't done yet, and continued to assault the Titan with its own weapon, whittling down its condition. Jake could see that the Militia Titan was catching fire in some places, and his grin widened as he joined the assault as his shields came back online.

The two IMC Titans unleashed all they had on the Ogre, the sustained damage was more than the single machine could handle. Soon it stopped moving, collapsing onto the ground in defeat. The Pilot inside was dead, without a shadow of a doubt, and Jake opened his hatch, saluting the other Titan.

"Cheers for the assist, but I had it handled." He joked.

" _Yeah, right. You were doing a great job of getting your ass kicked, if that's what you mean."_ The voice of Jackie laughed from the other Titan.

"Maybe." He chuckled. "Thanks anyway."

" _You're welcome."_ She hummed.

A new voice interrupted the intercom in Jake's ear. Panicked voices shouted in alarm, and Jake looked up into the sky as the Militia flagship, the 'Red-Eye', was rocked by dozens of explosions all along its hull. Slowly, but surely, the massive dreadnought began to sink down to the planet's surface.

"Mayday! Mayday! This is _Red-Eye!_ We're going down!" A male voice screamed in Jake's ear, the two Titans watched as the ship crashed into the ground, sending up a massive fireball and a loud thundering boom as it collided with the colony.

" _Holy shit…"_ Jake whispered under his breath as he stared at the haunting spectacle. The destructive display was only interrupted by streaks of bright blue light zipping across the sky as the Militia forces evacuated the planet.

" _Hmph, we didn't even kill half their fleet."_ Blisk's voice grumbled from the comm-unit inside Jake's cockpit. _"Fifty-four ships destroyed, that's it."_ He almost sounded genuinely upset about the staggeringly large statistic.

" _How many of those ships were civilian?"_ Graves asked, his tone gloomy and dejected.

" _Today's civilians are tomorrow's Militia, sir."_ Blisk replied, his tone was stone-cold and unflinching. _"What do you want me to do? Wait?"_

"Anything's better than a massacre…" Jake muttered under his breath. Although, Blisk and Graves couldn't hear him, Roe could. He saw her Stryder turn to regard him, and she hummed in thought. Jake silently wondered if she disapproved of his sentimentality, but she didn't offer any further comments to tell him her opinion.

" _Start a search! I want that fleet found."_ Graves ordered over the comm-unit. _"Graves out."_

Jake sighed as he watched the last few streaks of light leave his vision. In a way, he was glad that the Militia hadn't been massacred. And, of course, it was a good thing they'd managed to eliminate the M-COR's flagship, the _Red-Eye._ But Jake didn't feel glad about what he'd done. It didn't feel like a victory.

He was still alive. So that was something, Jake supposed.

He didn't say anything as the two of them returned to the main IMC landing point, Titans battered and damaged, but still in working order. Dozens of Grunts clad in white armour walked to waiting troopships, exhausted from the battle. Numerous prisoners in the signature green and orange uniform of the Militia were hand-cuffed and being led onto prison transports. Likely to be kept in the detention centres of some IMC ships until they could be transferred to a more permanent 'residence'.

Jake walked over to a group of Titans he recognised as Hazard Squad, disembarking his Atlas when he got close enough. He nodded to David, who returned the gesture, but his face was grave. His usually stoic face resembled a man who'd just heard devastating news, but was holding his emotions at arm's length. Roe walked beside Jake, removing her helmet, allowing her light brown hair to fall around her shoulders. Gregor approached the pair, his face ashen and depressed.

"Good to see you two are still alive." His thick Hungarian accent was difficult to understand, but Jake allowed the man to continue regardless. Something about the way he talked told Ace that whatever he needed to say was important. "But others in Hazard were… not so lucky."

Roe's face fell; clearly she'd been hoping that Hazard would come out of this fight unscathed. Jake's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He opened his mouth to ask Gregor to explain, but Roe stole what he was about to say before he could speak.

"How many did we lose this time?" She asked quietly, her voice barely audible above the sounds of the IMC withdrawal. Gregor shook his head.

"Only two. Fath and Miller." He told them, a heavy sadness to his voice. "A damned shame."

Jake cast a glance over to the rest of Hazard. Very little was being said between them, and Ace knew why. This was the time after the hurricane, when the damage that had been caused was finally registered by the people who'd been caught in the worst of it. Of course, it could've been worse, but it could've been better too. Hazard's silence also indicated that they could hear everything that the three Pilots were saying, so Jake took the opportunity to offer the fallen his respects.

"I'm sure they died well." Jake said, maybe a little louder than usual so all of the members of Hazard could hear him. "They'll be remembered. That's what's important. They're still with us if we don't forget them. And I'll tell you something, I'm never going to forget those two." He could see a few heads nodding absent-mindedly in agreement, though no one was looking at Jake, they just stared at the ground. "They were brave, and they knew the risks. In the end, they died in the line of duty, for what they believed in. They died as heroes, and that's how we'll always think of them."

Almost as soon as Jake stopped speaking, he saw Tapley approach him. The Captain looked tired, but still carried that surly tone of his when he opened his mouth.

"No truer words could be spoken, Pilot." Tapley told him. "You did a fine job out there, son. You should be proud." The man gestured to his bloody arm where the Militia Pilot had stabbed him with the Data-Knife. "Get that looked at as soon as possible, you hear me? I'm going to need my Squad at full strength if we're going to repay the Militia for what they did to us."

The entirety of Hazard was staring at the Captain now, though a few quick glances were aimed at Jake too.

"Damn straight." Someone whispered.

"So, what d'ya say, _Ace?_ " Tapley asked, adding particular emphasis on his new callsign, making it official. "Ready to take it to those terrorist bastards?"

Jake set his jaw and nodded with a smile, nervous that he was talking to the Captain. He felt Roe wrap her hand in his, her fingers interlacing with his own. She gripped him tightly, and he gave her hand a gentle squeeze, acknowledging the gesture.

"You know I am, sir." Jake replied, a steely hardness to his tone. Tapley smirked.

"Congratulations, Ace. You just passed your assessment."

A cheer went up from Hazard, and David approached him from the group of Pilots, placing a hand on Jake's shoulder, gripping it tight.

"Welcome to Hazard, _Pilot_." Turner told him, the ghost of a smile dancing on his features.

 **VIIIIIV**

 **Author's Notes:**

 **Sorry this took a while to update. I had a pretty busy New Year, as you can imagine, but I did my best to get this chapter out as soon as I could. I hope you like it.**

 _ **Now for the replies!**_

 _Mac Gustah_

Hmmm, yes, this will make for a good item in my favourites list.

But all joking aside, I'm really enjoying this. Keep it up!

Cheers, Mac Gustah

 **I'm glad to hear you're enjoying the journey. This is one of my first big action scenes, but there are plenty more to come, believe me. Thanks so much for the favourite, it really means the world.**

Great story so far. You're quite talented. I especially love the Roosterteeth references. Keep up the great work

 **Thank you for your review. I was wondering if anyone would pick up on the references, there are a couple in this chapter as well, if you can spot them! I'll give you a hint, one of them is from Dr. Who.**

 _PapaJohn_

good/good

Is pretty good

 **Is very thankful =)**

 _Guest_

Plz update

 **Here you are; another helping of my own special kind of madness.**

 **VIIIV**

 **Also, on another note, I'm thinking of adding some OC's into this story, they won't be in it until Jake gets his own Squad, but I can confirm that they will need to be on the side of the Militia. So if you'd like to submit an OC, you can shoot me one in the reviews, or PM me with it. Either way works. They can be whatever you like, I'm not picky. Ship Captain, Pilots, Grunts, Technicians, you name it!**

 **Please follow this format when you submit though. That's all I ask.**

 **Name:**

 **Age:**

 **Role: (Pilot, Ship Captain, Technician, etc)**

 **Bio:**

 **Gear:**

 **Titan Description (if it's a Pilot):**

 **Other Details:**

 **See you on the Frontier, Pilots!**


	5. Chapter IV - Aftermath

The Brotherhood of Battle:

Chapter 4: Aftermath

The next few days were a blur for Hazard Squad. As the _Argonaut_ and the rest of the IMC battle group _, 'The Oncoming Storm'_ , engaged in a wild goose chase for the Militia fleet that had escaped the battle at Victor, the Squad was being rigorously drilled by Tapley. Schedules were kept to a tight and organised order. Wake up, and then run a couple of circuits around the thousand-metre track of the _Argonaut_ as a morning exercise. The Squad was rewarded with breakfast and whoever finished in last often went hungry.

After that, there were numerous simulation sessions testing the Squad's collective efficiency in different combat scenarios. Jake wasn't the best at these tests, but he wasn't the worst. David said it was mostly down to his unrefined link with Spades, as well as his general inexperience as a Pilot.

Lincoln tried not to take it as an insult.

Next was tactical and strategic analysis lectures to train the mind, usually revolving around key IMC victories and the best methods of dealing with enemy Pilots and Titans. Lunch and showers were at noon, then the next few hours were spent looking after each Pilot's respective arsenal of weapons, as well as the daily Titan link. Another hour or two was spent in the sim pods in the afternoon, before dinner and recreational time. Lights out was at ten.

Rinse and repeat.

After three days of the routine, Jake didn't know even what day it was. The tight schedule made each day blend into the next. Ace didn't complain or grovel though, he just did as he was asked, like a good soldier. He wasn't going to be known as the one Pilot who couldn't live up to the role.

Whenever Jake wasn't training, he was usually spending time with Spades, trying to form a stronger bond with the machine. He knew that synthetic intelligences like SP-4D35 matured at a much faster rate than a human - exponentially so. But for all that, Jake often felt like he was dealing with a child sometimes, or a humourless grandparent who was going senile. There was never any in-between. It frustrated Jake to no end. So when Lincoln got too wound up at the A.I., he turned to one of his only sources of comfort.

Jackie Roe. Commander of Hazard Squad and now appointed as Tapley's second-in-command after Miller's untimely demise.

Ever since the battle on Victor, she and Ace had grown closer. It wasn't unheard of for Jake to catch someone's eye; God knows that he'd had plenty of one-night stands that he'd regretted the morning after. He'd had a couple of girlfriends over the years too, but his introverted personality he'd had before joining the IMC had often got in the way of most of his relationships.

But there was something different about the female Pilot, something that Jake couldn't quite put his finger on. Whenever the pair had the opportunity to, they'd been talking during Hazard's precious free time, and their conversations passed the time so fast that it was time for 'lights-out' faster than Jake could blink.

There was definitely something between them, Jake could tell, but he didn't want to act on his feelings for her. He knew that life as a Pilot was almost guaranteed to be a short one. The lingering threat of death was ready to greet them at every turn; the losses of Miller and Fath were evidence of that undeniable fact. Lincoln couldn't allow himself get too attached to anyone, David had taught him that.

Being killed in the line of duty was an occupational hazard for every Pilot in the IMC.

Lincoln silently mused over that as he made himself a mug of tea, a habit that he'd picked up from his days back home on Earth. It was a small luxury on the _Argonaut_ , and Jake always enjoyed being able to drink his favourite hot beverage when he got the chance. He smiled as he took a few cautious sips of the scalding liquid as he wandered back to Hazard's barracks, worn out and ready to unwind after the days drills.

Somehow, amongst the training and the time he spent with Jackie and David, Jake always tried to make time for Spades. The A.I. was the constant companion that Lincoln knew he needed in a world that seemed to relentlessly shift around him, completely out of his control. Spades was the anchor that brought Jake back down to reality when things became too much to bear.

Next to his bed, there was a small terminal that Jake could use to interface with Spades when they weren't on missions. Turner had told him that conversing with the A.I. was a good idea in order to gain rapport with the synthetic. It made for more fluid links when in combat scenarios, but was also useful for Pilot's to maintain 'people skills'. Being cooped up with other Pilots for so long often led to less socially aware individuals, so the A.I.'s were a great way of allowing their Pilots to stay… _socially appropriate_.

"Okay, Spades. What should we try today?" Jake asked the blinking blue light on his computer, blowing on his tea in an effort to cool it down. "Fancy another game of chess? It's a pretty close score."

 _"Incorrect. The current chess high-score is thirty seven games to this unit, and two to you."_ Spades corrected, droning in his upper class British accent.

"Like I said," Jake replied with a playful smirk on his face as he took a sip of the tea _. "Pretty close."_

Spades didn't say anything for a moment, his circuitry probably trying to decipher Jake's ridiculous logic. When the AI didn't reach a conclusion, he tried a different approach.

 _"In any case, Pilot, this unit would prefer to exercise an alternative method of Pilot and Titan linking."_

"Shoot." Jake muttered, shrugging.

 _"This unit does not have the ability to utilise a firearm."_ Spades replied.

Jake chuckled. "It's just an expression, Spades. It doesn't matter." Lincoln put down his tea and looked into the webcam that acted as the synthetic's eye. "You were saying?"

 _"Instead of playing another virtual board game, this unit would prefer to learn more about you."_ Spades told him.

Jake's eyes narrowed in confusion. "What do you mean? You've already got access to my military records."

 _"Affirmative, Pilot. But this unit only has records from the time of your enlistment and afterwards. I would like to learn more of your life before your military career."_ Spades explained. Jake hummed in thought.

Lincoln supposed he might as well tell the machine, if he was going to be with it for the long haul, Spades might as well know more about him.

"All right, but there's not exactly a lot to tell, Spades." Jake replied in a flat tone.

 _"On the contrary, you are twenty five years old, and you have only been a member of the IMC for three years. That leaves twenty-two years for events to occur that you need to disclose to this unit."_ Spades retorted.

"Touché." Jake whispered, a smile emerging on his face. "Where to begin?" He spoke to himself.

 _"The chronological beginning is typically a good foundation for-"_ Spades began.

"Again, Spades, it's just an expression." Jake sighed, a weary smirk emerging on his lips.

Spades stayed silent this time, waiting for Jake to tell his tale. The Pilot briefly wondered if the machine had the capacity to feel embarrassment, but Jake shrugged off the thought as he began to talk to the synthetic.

"I never thought of myself as the soldier type. Not at first. I'm Earthborn, you see. My family's made up of many generations' worth of lawyers and doctors. Intellectual kind of folks, you know? One or two of us were even politicians, believe it or not." Jake chuckled, taking another swig of tea.

"Not me. I wasn't interested in anything like that. My older brother was the prodigal son, always the go-getter, the 'golden goose'." Jake sighed sadly. "I was always shutting myself away, tinkering with my tech, logging onto hacker forums whenever I could. My folks didn't try to talk to me, so I made friends with my computers instead - but my brother? _He_ was my parents pride and joy, their whole world." Jake's eyes fell. "Some days, I think they even forgot I was there. So one day, I just left. Didn't even leave a note."

 _"It is highly illogical that humans would disregard their young in the manner that you describe. Evolutionary psychology shows-"_ Spades began.

"Well, I don't know what to tell you, Spades. But they didn't pay me any mind when I was there. And they certainly didn't bother trying to reach out to me once I'd left. So I don't know what to I can say. Maybe they were just _'illogical'_ people." Jake interjected, a small flush of anger stirring inside of him.

 _"My sympathies, Pilot."_ Spades consoled.

"It's okay. I shouldn't have raised my voice to you." Jake smiled softly. "Where was I? Oh, yeah. So I left. Took the first transport I could to get to the Frontier, on the hopes that I'd be able to make something of myself out here with my computer skills."

 _"And did you?"_

"To an extent, I suppose. I got a job as a technician. Companies hired me to hack into their software, exploit their weaknesses so they could understand how to defend against an actual hacker in the future. I guess all that time in my room worked out after all."

 _"This unit does not understand. From your summary, it seems you had a stable career as a 'hacker'. Why would you give it up?"_ Spades asked.

"I didn't give it up willingly, Spades. The war crept closer to the colonies I worked with, and I was running out of clients. A lot of them turned to the Militia when it was time to choose a side. When the work inevitably ran out, I didn't have many other options that actually paid - except as a soldier for the IMC."

" _This matches the circumstances around your recruitment. Documents state that you were put through basic training at the Accylodian Academy on the Tieri colony. After spending thirteen weeks training with other recruits, you were placed in Goblin Squad, a first-contact reconnaissance team responsible for investigating claims of Militia activity on secluded colony worlds."_ Spades continued.

"That's right. A lot of our operations were kept off-book. If we got found out while running down a lead, the IMC would have zero accountability. It was our job to recon an area, confirming any rumours of an enemy presence there. If there was an encampment, we'd call in the big guns. If not, no harm done, and we'd evacuate. Simple." Jake shrugged.

" _This unit disagrees with your supposition of your Squad's role in the war effort."_ Spades retorted.

Jake frowned. "How so?"

" _In the three years, seven months and ten days you served in Goblin Squad, at least eighteen different allied IMC soldiers were classified as KIA or MIA. This unit perceives your previous role to have been a dangerous one - not 'simple', as you put it. You are lucky to have survived for so long."_

"Well," Jake let out a long breath, "When you put it like that, I guess you do have a point. It sounds risky, I know, but I had it handled."

" _If you insist, Pilot."_ Spades relented, then let out a soft beep. _"Our effectiveness rating has increased by an additional thirteen percent as a result of this conversation. Our combat efficiency will improve markedly in our next simulation training session or field link."_

"Damn, that much, huh?" Jake replied as he finished the last of his tea, and stood up from his chair. "Not bad, Spades."

" _Where are you going, Pilot?"_ The synthetic probed, the webcam tracing Jake slowly walking towards the door of the barracks.

"I've got an appointment at the med-bay. Doctor McCarren wants to do a check-up on my injuries I got from the battle at Victor." Jake said; rolling his arm forwards a couple of times. It was sore, but since the bullets embedded in his limb had been removed, he'd felt a lot better. Now, it was just a matter of checking in every now and again to make sure he wasn't going to get an infection or suffer from any post-injury effects, as Doctor McCarran put it.

" _Of course, Lincoln. I will be here when you return."_ Spades replied. Jake smiled, realising that was the first time the machine had called him by his actual name, rather than just 'Pilot'.

Jake patted the doorframe a couple of times as he hummed in thought.

"Hey, Spades. Why don't you load up another round of chess? We'll play a game or two when I get back. How's that sound?"

Spades stayed silent for a moment, before a new window popped up on-screen, showing a virtual chessboard, ready to be played whenever Jake returned.

"Attaboy, Spades." Jake muttered, smiling as he began wandering down the dull-grey corridors of the _Argonaut,_ whistling a tuneless song, in the direction of the med-bay.

 **VIIIIIV**

"Damn it!" The slender woman bellowed as she angrily tossed a small device that had once been a tac-pad at a wall, shattering to pieces as it collide with the metal wall. "God- _fucking_ -dammit!"

The pudgy Asian man just watched her with his beady eyes, as she paced angrily from one end of the room to the other, muttering curses, mostly aimed towards the IMC, but some were aimed at herself; predominantly for risking the safety of so many lives.

"Calm down, Sarah. There's nothing we can do now." Bish offered, taking a small step towards her.

Instead, she just redirected her anger towards him, a fiery rage in her eyes.

" _Calm down?!_ People _died_ , Bish!" She retorted, her nostrils flaring as she spoke. "Hundreds of people – gone! Because of me!"

"Sarah, it's not your f-"

"Don't!" She cut in. "It was _my_ idea to gather the fleets for an offensive for that fuel depot. So don't you _dare_ try to tell me that what happened on Victor isn't my fault."

Bish stayed silent at that, swallowing the lump in his throat. He lowered his eyes to the floor, and Sarah went back to pacing the room, not out of anger now, but sorrow.

"We lost so many, Bish. _Too many._ " She began. "I don't know what to do..."

He didn't say a word, knowing that if he offered any consolation, she'd just bite back at him.

"The _Red-Eye_. It's gone." Briggs reminded herself for the umpteenth time that hour. "That ship was our best bet for the Frontier. But now it's..." She sighed, turning to him. "What are we going to do?"

Her eyes were desperate and sad. Bish had honestly never met anyone more devoted to the cause than her. It was why she inspired so many, all over the Frontier. Her confidence spread like a wildfire, and her courage was truly something to marvel at. But none of that was there at that moment in time. Her eyes didn't hold the twinkle of hope that Bish had become so accustomed to seeing every time they spoke, and it pained his heart to see her be so vulnerable and scared, so uncertain of what to do next.

" _I don't know._ " Bish whispered; his words barely audible. "I don't know."

Sarah looked about ready to break down into tears. Bish quickly tried to console her.

"But we can't stop. We can't give up now, Sarah." Bish told her, his voice unexpectedly firm, surprising even himself. "We only lose if we give up, if we surrender."

It was the best he could do, but Bish knew it wasn't enough for her. Her eyes met his, but she still looked lost. Her expression tired and defeated.

"How much longer can we keep doing this, Cheng?"

Her words were quiet, and her use of his first name startled Bish for a moment, but he had nothing to offer in reply. He just stood there, motionless and mute.

Someone did speak up though, the only other occupant of the room, who had said nothing until now, opting to hide himself in the shadows in the darkest corner of the room. Bish gasped almost inaudibly when he spoke, he'd forgotten the other man was there.

"As long as it takes, Sarah." The Pilot filled in, filling the silence with his deep and powerful voice. "Bish is right. We cannot give up. We can't let the IMC win, not without a fight."

"But-" She attempted.

"No." He interrupted. "No 'buts'. I will not roll over and show those IMC _bastards_ a white flag. I'll die a thousand times before any of us do that."

Bish nodded. The Pilot's words were honest, and the power behind every sentence was felt by the uncertain woman opposite him.

"All those people that died, fighting for Victor?" He continued. "They did not die in vain, Sarah, we must make sure of that. They were not murdered by the IMC, like my precious Maria and Sacha, for _nothing_." His strong Russian accent hardened at the mention of his deceased wife and daughter. " _Nyet_ , they died for the liberation of the Frontier. For the dream of a place where their children can grow old without fearing for their way of life, endangered by the IMC."

The light started returning to Sarah's eyes, and Bish recognised that flicker of hope once more.

"That's all well and good, Vladimir, but there's a time and a place for pretty speeches. Right now, we need a plan of action." Sarah replied after the Russian man was finished.

Bish nodded his agreement, facing Vladimir with look of hard resolve on his features. "She's right. Do you have any bright ideas, Zuyev?" Bish asked him.

"Not yet, my friend, but you will see. Fate has a way of guiding us where we need to go. In poker, you get another hand soon after you fold. Why should this be any different?" Vladimir cryptically replied before smirking and exiting the room.

Bish sighed at the man's incompetent, yet comprehensible, answer. The ex-IMC Pilot was right though, they couldn't do much right now to take the fight to the enemy, but they could still help settlements in danger. By doing that, more colonists joined their cause, fighting for the promise of a better tomorrow.

"He's right, Sarah. We'll make their sacrifice worth something, but in the meantime we aren't doing any good mourning the lost."

Sarah nodded. "Okay. Keep an eye on the system's distress frequencies. If we can help the colonists, they might help us in return."

Bish nodded, smiling as he went to exit the room, he paused and turned as he addressed his friend one final time.

"Like he said, fate will deal us another hand of cards soon enough. Let's just hope we get an Ace, eh?"

 **VIIIIIV**

"And that about does it, Pilot." The doctor smiled at Jake, who sat in a stark-white chair with apparatus attached to one of the arm-rests. Jake's injured limb was placed in the tube that was fixed there, and the dim blue light that had been scanning his appendage switched off as McCarren approached him, medical clipboard in hand.

"I'm done?" Jake asked as he swung his legs off the sloping footrest and onto the floor.

"I've just authorised you the all-clear. You're free to go." The ageing man smiled.

"Thanks, Doc. I appreciate it." Lincoln replied as he stood up and put on a simple grey jacket with the IMC logo on the back. He'd also sewn on a Pilot insignia on a sleeve, as well as an Ace of Spades patch just beneath it.

"Before you go, Mr. Lincoln." The doctor said, holding up a hand.

Jake raised an eyebrow.

"I understand you're friends with one 'David Turner', is that correct?" McCarren questioned the Pilot, examining Jake's reaction. The Pilot just chuckled.

"I'm not sure how he'd feel about someone saying that he has 'friends', especially me." Jake laughed.

But McCarren didn't smile. He just exhaled slowly, and Lincoln's face fell. Something was wrong.

"But if you want to split hairs, then I suppose you _could_ call me his friend." Jake admitted, but his questions soon turned to worry. "What's wrong? What's happened to him?"

Again, McCarren didn't say anything for a while. He simply sighed sadly.

"Look, Pilot…," McCarren started, stepping towards Jake and placing a hand on his shoulder, "… _Jake_. He's your mentor, so I'm telling you for your own peace of mind. A General from the IMC science division came on-board recently, he ordered for a surgery to be done on two members of Hazard, hand-chosen by him. But that's all I know. I'm not a high enough rank to know why it was happening, but I just follow my orders."

Jake listened intently to what the doctor told him, wondering what the surgery had been for.

"Where is he now, Doc?" Ace asked the man.

"He's in recovery, but because of the nature of his operation, he'll be suffering from some… difficult psychological effects." McCarren muttered, almost so Jake didn't hear him.

"What kind of psyc-"

"I can't tell you that, Pilot. It's classified." McCarren cut him off.

Jake sputtered in surprise, but his shock quickly turned to irritation.

"What? Doc, you can't say that my friend's had an operation that's affected his mind, and then not tell me what's wrong with him!" Lincoln almost shouted. But the doctor simply put out a finger to hush him and pointed to the door.

"I'm sorry, Jake. I've already said too much." He said, almost apologetically. "You're free to go, Pilot."

Jake grunted in annoyance, but didn't say anything more on the matter; he turned and marched out of the door in anger - only to almost collide with a nurse who was standing just outside the doorway. Jake let out a small noise of surprise, and the nurse took a few steps back, her face growing bright red from embarrassment.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't see you th-" Jake began, apologising for his accident with the woman.

"It's quite alright, Pilot. I shouldn't have been-" She took a moment to collect herself, and then spoke to him again. "I'm sorry, but I couldn't help but hear about your friend."

Jake's face fell, worry etched onto his features for David. "It's okay. I shouldn't have raised my voice at the doctor."

"No, no. It's not that." She smiled. "I work in the recovery department of the med-bay. I know where your friend is, if you'd like to see him."

Jake's eyes lit up. "You'd do that?" But then a concerned look crossed his features. "Aren't there rules though?"

"I'll arrange something, don't worry. It's so hard to keep track of visiting hours these days." She smirked, an almost mischievous grin on her features.

"Thank you, seriously. This means a lot." Jake replied. "Can you show me?"

"Of course, Pilot, if you'll just follow me." The nurse smiled again, turning on her heel and marching down the corridor. Jake only paused for a moment before he followed her through the hallways of the _Argonaut_.

 **VIIIIIV**

Blisk grunted in annoyance as yet another report came back from the communication technician's stamped with negative results on the current location of the remaining Militia fleet. It wasn't that he cared about winning this war, but the longer it took to eliminate the terrorists, the longer he went without a pay check, and the longer he was away from his mercenary band – the _'Apex Predators'_.

He swiped a few times on his tac-pad, sifting through the collected data on the predictions of the Militia's whereabouts. The results all pointed to the supposition that they'd moved to somewhere within the Reftar system, more than likely licking their wounds at a Militia sympathetic world, but Blisk couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something. In the end, he'd returned to his employer empty-handed. He entered the Vice-Admirals quarters without knocking.

"Sir, the reports aren't telling us anything new. No news about the escaped fleet beyond what we already know." Blisk informed the Vice Admiral.

Graves sighed in irritation. "Damn those terrorists. Why can't they just surrender? It'd make it a lot easier to lay claim to the Frontier."

"With all due respect, sir, they're not going to stop until the IMC leaves." Blisk reminded him.

"I'm aware of their motives, Blisk, but war isn't just black and white. There is no good and evil. This was our land first, and the IMC made the Frontier in the first place, but ever since then, the colonists made it what it is today. They're fighting for what they think is theirs, but we were here first."

Blisk stayed quiet, handing the Vice Admiral the tac-pad. Graves examined it for a while before sighing as if he was exhausted. He knew that Blisk would likely already have a plan about what to do to locate the Militia.

"Any ideas on how we can deal with our current situation, Blisk?" Graves asked, almost hesitant to ask the violent man what malicious scheme he'd imagined.

"As a matter of fact, sir, I do." Blisk told him, Graves could practically hear him grinning cruelly. "Those new Spectre units, the Mark Two's? I reckon they'd make a mighty fine job of rooting out the insurgents."

Graves nodded, it was true. Plenty of new Spectres were readily available for the IMC to use, and the _Argonaut_ had a whole army of the machines in storage. To Graves' knowledge, they just needed a field-test before being deployed across IMC controlled space.

"I pose that we search the Rafter system, going to planet to planet – colony to colony, in order to find the Militia fleet. The Spectre's will make short work of any... _unco-operative_ locals, and our Pilots will be able to eliminate the terrorists once we find them."

Graves had to admit, it was a sound plan, if a little morbid, but this was a war after all, and Graves wasn't about to let more innocent people die as a result of the chaos.

"Alright. Inform Ship Captain Richards to head for the nearest colony, prepare the Spectres for their official field-test. Give control of all the mechanised units to Spyglass and make sure the Pilots will be ready when the time comes."

Blisk smiled smugly in triumph. This would be a bloodbath.

"With pleasure, sir." He muttered, striding off cockily, making for the bridge of the ship.

 **VIIIIIV**

The pair stood outside David's room, glancing nervously at the door that would automatically open if Jake strayed near enough to it. The Pilot took a shaky breath, wondering what he was going to say to the man once he was inside. Why was he so nervous?

Jake pondered the thought as he realised the nurse had been talking at him for the past few moments. A momentary look of confusion crossed over his features, but Jake quickly regained his composure, stuttering a couple of times.

"Sorry, could you say all that again?" Lincoln asked as politely as he could manage.

The nurse smiled softly, and nodded her head.

"Your friend has been through something that not a lot of people have had much experience with. The operation itself was relatively simple, and the benefits it could bring to his performance in the field are countless…" She trailed off, "…but the effects it will have on his psyche? They're almost completely unknown; we can't tell how he'll react to any kind of human interaction. Even what he'll do or say when he sees you, it's impossible to tell what David will think."

Jake took a few moments to process what the woman was telling him.

"So, on the one hand, he could have no idea who I am – but he's also liable to try and kill me on sight? _Great._ " Jake murmured. The nurse frowned at his sarcasm; clearly she didn't share his sense of humour.

"It could be one of those, but it could also be that he has complete recollection of you and everything he's experienced up to this point in time. As I said, we're dealing with an unknown variable here." She replied in a low voice, more serious than ever. "But I know this; he needs a friend, Pilot. Now more than ever."

"I understand, ma'am." Jake smiled. His formality seemed to put her mind at ease, if nothing else. "Well then, I think I've kept him waiting long enough." Jake nodded, making for the door to David's room.

"Pilot, I'll be monitoring everything that happens in that room from out here, don't worry." She told him, as if trying to reassure Lincoln before he entered the room.

Jake just grinned at her with his most disarming smile.

"There's no need for that, ma'am." He nodded. "After all, he wouldn't hurt me, he's my friend."

His smile only faltered for a second when he turned away from the woman to walk towards the door.

 _At least, that's what he hoped…_

The automatic door receded into the ceiling with a soft hiss, and Jake wandered in, his eyes quickly settling on the inactive form of David, sitting up on the bed. The bigger man looked sceptically at Jake as he pulled up a chair next to his bed and slowly sat down, never taking his eyes off David for more than a moment.

A few seconds went by as the pair stared at each other; Jake swallowed a lump in his throat, hoping that Turner would know who he was without having to ask him out loud. After it became clear David wasn't going to speak first, Jake opened his mouth.

"Hello, David." Lincoln said quietly. "Do you know who I am?"

David narrowed his eyes in thought. Jake could practically see the cogs turning in his mind, trying to figure out who he was exactly.

" _Ace."_ David simply stated after a few seconds. Jake smiled.

"Close enough." He replied. "How are you feeling?"

Lincoln raised an eyebrow. That was the million-dollar question.

"I'm… not sure." David whispered, but Jake easily heard him in the quiet room. "Everything feels fuzzy…" Turner raised a finger to his temple, "…in here."

Jake hummed quietly in thought. "But you know where you are? You remember what happened?"

"Vaguely." David told him, taking a deep breath. "I know there was some kind of surgery, but I don't remember why it happened."

Jake stayed silent.

"There was someone else with me. Gregor?" Lurch murmured. "What happened to him? Is he okay?"

"You mean Pavel?" Jake asked. He was the other Pilot who'd had the same operation as David. "I'm honestly not sure."

Turner frowned sombrely. "What are you doing here anyway?"

The question caught Jake off-guard, and he shrugged.

"I just wanted to check up on you. Someone... thought it would be good for you if I dropped by." Jake explained, the nurse no doubt listening to their conversation from outside the room.

David didn't say anything, just looking at Jake as if trying to recognise a face from a lifetime ago. It upset Lincoln to some extent to see David so uncertain of him, and he silently wondered what the big man was thinking. It was like trying to make a good impression all over again.

Something was definitely different about David though, Jake could tell. His eyes were kinder; his face was softer and didn't carry the same look of mild irritation that pre-surgery David often wore like a mask. Jake wondered if the operation on his mind had somehow altered his personality, but that just seemed ridiculous – let alone possible. Then again, the surgery was allegedly meant to accomplish other equally impossible feats. Making David's thought process faster, eliminate his involuntary movements and make him more efficient in combat.

That was what the nurse had told Jake on the way to the recovery room, anyway. Whether it was true or not – that was another matter indeed.

"Thank you." David told Jake, catching his eye.

Jake raised an eyebrow. He didn't remember David ever thanking him for anything before.

"For what?" He enquired.

"Coming to see me." David explained. "It's a little hard to piece everything together right now, and I don't think I'm cut out for duty with the headspace I'm in. But thank you, for dropping by."

Jake was silent for a moment. Clearly, David's thanks were genuine. He was almost speechless. It felt somehow wrong for David to be so nice to him all of a sudden, but it was a welcome change to the stern and stoic version of the man he had known before.

"You're welcome, David." Jake replied, nodding as he smiled. "After all, what are friends for?"

David nodded in return, but sighed as if he was tired. Perhaps the operation had been more exhausting than Jake had thought, and he should give David credit for staying awake so long.

"I'll leave you be, mate." Jake said quietly as he stood up, walking towards the automatic door. "Looks like you need some rest."

The young Pilot had barely left the room when David fell asleep, succumbing to his exhaustion seemingly as soon as his head hit his pillow.

 **VIIIIIV**

Jake wandered into the barracks, ruffling his hair and breathing a sigh of exhaustion. A few members of Hazard were milling around, busy with chores or simply occupying themselves until it was time for lights out. He saw a few familiar faces, White and Arral among them, but they didn't acknowledge him - too busy concerning themselves with other duties or past times to greet him or recognize his presence in the room.

Ace kicked off his boots and crashed onto his bed, head lying on the pillow. He probably would've fallen asleep right then and there if he didn't have so much on his mind. David was in a sorry state, all because of a surgery that his mentor hadn't bother to tell him about. Jake supposed he couldn't truly blame him, especially if David hadn't known about it prior to the battle at Victor.

A quiet but incessant beeping kept on playing at his terminal next to Jake's bed, and Jake pulled a face as he hauled himself from the mattress and onto the chair in front of the display. The screen popped into life, and Jake was met with the sight of a chessboard, still patiently waiting for his first move. Lincoln almost laughed, but felt too tired to do so, instead giving a weary half-smile to the webcam mounted on top of the monitor. Jake could practically feel Spades staring at him through the lens, patiently waiting for him to make the first move.

Of course, Ace knew what the outcome would be before he even started playing. He was far too tired to be of any challenge to the ever increasingly intelligent synthetic program. Sure enough, within four moves, Spades already had the Pilot dead to rights. The A.I.'s 'queen' piece having Jake's 'king' pinned down, whichever way he moved. Jake rolled his eyes as the synthetic announced its success.

" _Information, this unit has achieved victory. Our scoreboard has been adjusted to represent this."_ Spades droned in his upper-class English accent. _"Would you like a rematch, Lincoln?"_

"Maybe tomorrow, I'm beat." Jake replied. "Good night, Spades."

" _Rest well, Pilot. Commencing sleep mode."_ Spades informed him, the monitor webcam blinking a few times before its blue backlight faded to nothing. Jake switched off the monitor too, smiling in content at how well the intelligence of his Titan OS was coming along.

"You boys and your toys…" A female voice whispered behind Jake, and he turned around to see Jackie standing there, hands on hips, a cocky smile on her lips. Immediately, Jake's mood brightened, and he stood to meet her.

"What can I say? I guess my hands are always busy. I've been told that I'm pretty good with my fingers." He retorted, and then sputtered. "But _not_ in that way!"

She laughed at that, music to Lincoln's ears. "I'm sure."

Jake smirked. "What brings you here, Commander?"

Roe's posture didn't change, but she raised an eyebrow to Jake calling her by her official rank.

"Just… inspecting the troops, making sure that everything's good in the ranks." She replied coyly. Jake smirked knowingly at her sly words, but his face soon fell with a sombre thought.

"What's wrong?" Jackie asked him, her face etched with worry.

Jake sighed. "It's just... I don't know if it's a good idea to have something between us."

Roe said nothing, a confused look on her face. Jake tried to explain his point a little better before she got angry with him.

"It's dangerous enough being a Pilot as it is. Leaping from building to building in the middle of a warzone, sitting inside the stomach of one of _the_ _most_ advanced war machines ever imagined? Some people could say we're insane for what we do."

"Some people are wrong. Jake, we're just doing what we have to. We're just doing our _job_." Jackie interrupted his line of thought, sitting down on his bed next to him, placing a hand affectionately on his shoulder, her thumb absent-mindedly rubbing his arm.

"Jackie, our ' _job'_ is to be dropped into an active warzone - _from orbit_ , with only a glorified metal coffin to protect us from going splat. We have to be a little bit crazy to do that, don't you think?"

Jackie frowned in thought. "I suppose." She smiled. "But we're all crazy in our own ways, Jake."

He supposed she had a point there, but he shook his head.

"All I'm saying is that life is risky for Pilots. And I don't know if it's a good idea if we have something between us, Roe." Jake said sadly, using her last name as a way of trying to distance himself from her.

Her face remained impassive. Jake wondered what she would say next, or how she would react. Anger, perhaps. Sadness? Maybe she'd laugh and claim that she wasn't even seeking that kind of relationship with him in the first place, and that she just wanted to be nothing more than friends, that Jake was just getting the wrong idea about her. When she didn't say anything, Jake opened his mouth to speak

"We could literally die _at any moment_ , Jackie." He summarised. "Are you sure we could risk falling in love if we could die tomorrow?"

She didn't speak for a long while. Instead moving to sit down on his bed, her cloudy eyes staring at the floor. She seemed emotional, and Jake wasn't sure if he'd stepped over the line.

"You don't want to be with me?" She asked, without looking up at him. Her voice was a whisper. "Is that what you're trying to say?"

Jake sighed and took her hands in his, rubbing them affectionately.

"No, of course not." Jake replied. "I want to be with you, Jackie, but I'm just not sure if I could live with myself if anything happened to you out there."

She locked eyes with him then, and Jake's breath caught slightly as he took in how truly beautiful she was. Jackie might've put on a show to be a tough Pilot, but in reality she was gentle, though she had some solid about her, something unmovable and resolute. He silently wondered what it was as she spoke quietly to him.

"You're right, I suppose. I'm sorry." She softly said.

Jake drew her into his arms, warming her with a firm embrace. He gently rubbed her back up and down.

"It's not your fault. It's mine." Lincoln told her. "I don't want you to get hurt. I could get killed at any moment."

As he released her from his hug, Jake locked eyes with her again, their faces only inches apart.

Then, slowly, they leaned into each other, their lips gently pressing together, locked into a sensual kiss. It was a few seconds before they parted and Jake felt his heartbeat hammering in his chest as he leaned away, looking deeply into her blue eyes; he was so close he could make out the green flecks in her iris. He saw he cheeks flush slightly with a crimson tinge, and Jake felt his mouth go dry.

"You're worried about dying?" She began. "We all are. It unites us, makes us stronger. The lingering threat of death brings us closer, makes us more aware. Being killed is an occupational hazard for us. That's what makes Pilots so special. Not Titans, not the fancy weapons or the jump-kits." She explained.

"It's being scared of Death, but having the courage to look him in the eye and tell him – 'not today'." Jackie told him. Jake was speechless, but he had to admit that she had a point. "You're scared of death. So am I. But you know what we can do in the meantime?" She smirked.

Jake shook his head slowly, his mouth slightly open in rapt attention. Jackie leaned in to whisper into his ear, and she spoke so quietly to him that Jake almost missed her words.

"We can _live."_

Then she kissed him again, though no one in the barracks cared to say anything, some of them cast a sideways glance at the pair, wolf whistling all the while. Jake felt a pang of embarrassment as they parted and he looked at the other members of his squad guiltily. Roe went a deep shade of crimson, standing up hastily and leaving before Jake could stop her. He knew she wouldn't want him to go after her, she was too independent and headstrong, and she'd more than likely just use her rank to excuse herself from his company.

So he sat that there, amongst the rowdy males of Hazard, confused about how he felt about this woman who'd so captured his eye and even his heart. After the whooping had died down, Jake climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to claim him. Lincoln smirked to himself as he thought about Jackie and what she'd said to him.

" _We can live..."_ Jake whispered to himself.

 **VIIIIIV**

 **Author's Note:**

 **Sorry if this chapter felt kind of shorter guys, but I got a laptop of my own yesterday, and now I can finally put in some more work into 'Brotherhood'. Admittedly, a lot of this chapter was filler, but it did have some important things in it, I assure you. But don't worry, the next chapter will have plenty of action to go around and we'll begin to see Jake question his loyalty to the IMC. Maybe.**

 **Thank you for all the feedback and the OC's you submitted, I'll do my best to include as many of them as I can. Submissions will close when the next chapter comes out, as soon as March begins, so if you want to have a character in this story, make sure you enter them in before then.**

 _ **Reviews:**_

 **Mac Gustah:**

I gotta say, I really like where this is going :) I can see there will be plenty of strife, feels and asskicking to feed my drama addiction. Keep it up!

Now, if you don't mind, there is one guy I'd like to see in your story. Of course, you can do with it as you please, I'm a patient and not easily insulted man. I'll PM you the sheet.

Keep up the good work!

Cheers,  
Mac Gustah

 **Reply:**

 **There will be indeed, Mac, and I hope you see this story through to the end, I promise I will. I'd be happy to include your character in 'Brotherhood', so you can expect an appearance from them in a future chapter.**

 **Thanks for reading.**

 **See you on the Frontier, Pilots.**


	6. Chapter V - The Massacre

The Brotherhood of Battle

Chapter 5 – The Massacre

It had just been another day on the job for Leonard Hartley, who was one of the many communications technicians on board the ship. It was a Wednesday, and like every other Wednesday on board the IMS _Argonaut_ , he got out of bed, had a shower and made himself a black coffee before he sat down at his workstation, ready for another eight hours of combing through known Militia frequencies, searching for any hints of terrorist activity.

It was his job to search through certain bandwidths and frequencies, looking for encrypted Militia messages that could be of any interest to his superiors.

"Mornin', Lenny." A familiar voice announced from somewhere to Leonard's right. He didn't bother turning around to see who it was. From the flat tone and deep accent, he knew who it was immediately.

"Morning, John." Leonard replied in an equally bored tone, eyes glued to his monitor. "Sleep well?"

The question was rhetorical. Leonard already knew that John almost never slept. Apparently, the other man stood with the belief that sleep was for the weak, drinking coffee instead.

"Very funny, Lenny." John sighed as he sat himself down at his own console, metres away from his partner.

Leonard cast a look over to the other man, taking in his tired face and bloodshot eyes. He wondered if the man had night terrors, perhaps that was why he avoided rest as much as humanly possible?

The technician shook his head, refocusing his attention to the screen before him; beginning to scan through various frequencies for the signals he knew would almost certainly not appear.

"I'm so sick of this..." He whispered to himself.

"Another day in paradise, eh, Lenny?" John droned from his own screen, having overheard Leonard's almost inaudible comment.

"I don't know about you, Johnny, but my idea of 'paradise' isn't exactly being stuck inside a comms room on-board a lump of metal in the middle of deep-space." Leonard almost growled.

John just shrugged. "To each their own, and all that."

But Leonard wasn't finished; the comment had sparked him into his own little rant.

"Our job's pointless anyway! It's a waste of time searching through these frequencies. Spyglass could easily do it for us. The rebels don't even-"

A soft beeping interrupted his irate comments, coming from Leonard's console, cutting his rant short. He angrily cast a glance over to the screen, and his eyes widened in surprise.

Typically, his work was horrifically dull, as the M-COR terrorists seldom used such risky communication procedures that the IMC could certainly intercept and decipher. And even if they did, they _never_ used the frequencies that Leonard was charged to keep an eye on.

So he was more than a little surprised when an unencrypted open-frequency hail for any assistance was painted all over his screen. Leonard wasted no time in isolating the distress call, hoping it was a Militia plea for aid, and tracked it down to a nearby colony in the system they were currently sifting through for any sign of the remnants of the M-COR fleet they'd encountered at Victor.

As soon as he'd found the signal, he'd hastily transferred the message onto his tac-pad, taking off for the bridge. John had raised questions about Leonard's sudden liveliness, but Leonard didn't bother to answer his partner's questions.

The head-of-communications officer would likely have something to say about what he'd found. Who knows; if it was actually the Militia, he might even get a promotion, or at least a medal. The thought put some spring into Leonard's step, and he quickened his pace as he made his way to the bridge, a smug smile of satisfaction plastered onto his features.

 **VIIIIIV**

"Correct me if I'm wrong, guys." Jake said to the pair of Pilots standing next to him as they stood in the hangar waiting for their dropship to be ready for departure. "We're searching a backwater village, in the middle of nowhere, for the Militia? _Seriously?"_ Jake grunted in annoyance. "We're Pilots, we should be _out there_! Not going door-to-door like we're rallying support for the local church."

"Calm down, Jake. Being a Pilot isn't all fire-fights and explosions, you know. And it's not like we're going house-to-house." David explained; a small smile on his face at Lincoln's obvious irritation to the apparently menial assignment.

Ace raised an eyebrow at his mentor's words. Roe simply smirked playfully at Jake's annoyance.

"So we're _not_ ringing on doorbells like a bunch of cookie-selling Girl Scouts? _Thank God_." He chuckled.

"I don't think you'll be keeping that mind-set for long, Ace." Jackie sighed. The Commander was standing next to Jake, her DMR-Longbow slung over her shoulder."I never like this bit, but before we go down there, you need to understand something." She said, placing a hand on Jake's shoulder. "This is the nasty side of the job. But just remember that these people are Militia sympathisers, they're a few steps away from joining the terrorists themselves on the battlefield."

"What do you mean?" Jake asked, doubt creeping into his mind. The way Jackie was speaking was beginning to scare him. David picked up where she left off.

"It's Frontier justice. It's..." David paused, no doubt searching for the right word, "...it's _necessary_."

"I don't understand." Jake whispered, but decided not to press the issue to his mentor. Neither of the other two Pilots said a word, perhaps reflecting on the task at hand.

Suddenly the Argonaut's tannoy burst to life, Spyglass speaking to all personnel in the hangar.

 _"Attention; all IMC units. This deployment will serve as a field-test of the improved Mark-Two Spectres. All personnel are discouraged from interfering in their operations, and any act of aggression towards the units will be swiftly dealt with."_

"Aggression from who; us or the villagers?" Jake muttered, loud enough for David and Roe to hear, though neither made a comment in return.

 _"The IMC is here to investigate claims of Militia activity on the colony. Your mission is to safeguard the new units and eliminate any Militia forces in the area."_

Jake hummed in thought as Spyglass went on, but he got the general gist of the mission. Sit back and watch the Spectres do all the hard work? Now _that_ was something that Lincoln could get behind.

"Alright, Hazard, listen up." Tapley called out, gathering his squad around him in a small circle. With his helmet off, Jake could see the intense look of pride and respect he held for each and every one of his men.

"You all heard Spyglass' announcement. We're here to observe and protect." He pointed a finger to the racks of Spectres being loaded onto smaller ships to be taken to the small colony beneath them. "These new assets may very well be a great benefit to the IMC, and could even bring a swift end to the war with the Militia if this test succeeds."

As the Captain continued, Jake cast a careful glance over to David, searching his features for any hint of the stoicism or stern attitude he'd been renowned for. Now though, ever since the operation on his brain and the installation of the Gen-2 chip, his personality had changed.

It felt so strange to Jake. It was as if the IMC had ripped away the man Lincoln had known and trained under, and replaced him with someone new, someone who had the same face but a different mind.

But more than that, it was the notion that the scientists had changed the very being of who David was? It terrified Jake to no end. Turner no longer seemed haunted by the things he'd told Jake about the day of his assessment after he'd assaulted another Pilot. Jake silently wondered if David could even remember his family, or if they were just hazy blurs somewhere deep in his consciousness.

Jake was ripped away from his thoughts when his mentor turned to face him and gave him a nudge with his arm. Jake blinked a few times as he snapped back to reality, and David watched the momentary confusion with an amused smile. A genuine look of happiness that only reminded Jake once again that this wasn't the man he'd known, he was different – but the same.

It was enough to give any psychiatrist a head-ache.

"Did you hear any of that, Ace?" David asked him.

Jake absent-mindedly nodded his head.

"Yeah, got it. Sure." Lincoln mumbled as he walked away towards the transports.

Turner's face grew concerned and he jogged to catch up to the other Pilot. He put a hand on Jake's shoulder, but felt the latest addition to Hazard shudder at his touch, as if scared by physical contact with him. Had he never gestured like it before the surgery? David couldn't quite recall, it was still hazy, but he took away his hand so he didn't make Jake uncomfortable.

"What's wrong?" David asked. "You okay?"

Jake nodded. It seemed there was genuine concern in his voice, and Lincoln decided to give David a chance. He didn't want to abandon him when he'd become more friendly. Maybe this way, the pair of them could actually be friends, rather than just comrades.

"I'm fine. Just..." Jake trailed off.

"It's me, isn't it?" David finished for him. "I'm different, aren't I?"

Jake sighed, nodding reluctantly.

"Doesn't it bother you?" Jake asked, wondering how David might feel about his psychological change.

Turner stared at Jake for a long while before shrugging.

"I suppose, but even if I wanted to go back to how I was, I can't."

Jake nodded as he pulled on his helmet, trying to hide the shame on his face from his mentor. The rest of Hazard were already boarding onto the dropship, and Jake's mind told him to go with them, but his body stayed rooted to the spot.

"This is who I am now, Jake. You need to understand that, just as much as I do."

"Well, it's just going to take some time, I suppose." Jake offered.

"For you and me both, Ace. But I'm not worried. After all, we've got all the time in the world."

"True enough." Jake smiled underneath his visor, despite knowing no one could see his expression. "Besides, it's not like I'm going anywhere."

"Amen to that." David gently punched Jake on the arm, and they boarded the dropship as it lifted off from the hangar floor, and sped out of the launch window, flanked by dozens of other dropships, all bound for the isolated colony on the planet beneath them.

 **VIIIIIV**

If Jake had been suspicious of the way Jackie had danced around the finer details of the operation when he'd asked her what they'd be doing on the surface, he understood why she'd been apprehensive to give him a clear idea of what would happen to the colony they were searching through for the Militia.

The first sign that something was amiss were the pillars of smoke that rose from the villages and farms of the colony. Grey and black smoke stacks rose from the ground in stacks, causing Jake to wonder whether the new Spectres they were field-testing were able to set fire to colonist homes and other necessary buildings.

If it had just been a few houses being burned, Jake could have reluctantly accepted what was happening. Setting fire to lodgings and other buildings was a good way to flush out the Militia, forcing their hand and making them act out and try to repel the IMC. But no M-COR had been reported on the IMC frequencies - yet. Jake's eyebrows furrowed in confusion as the dropship skimmed a few dozen metres above the ground, the plains of the grasslands and farms zipping by beneath the aircraft.

Soon enough, Blisk's voice crackled on their communication devices in their helmets. Jake gripped his C.A.R. ever tighter as the mercenary relished the destruction of the civilian homes. Jake couldn't make out the carnage yet, but listening to Blisk's disturbing commentary was unnerving enough.

" _Sir, we haven't found any Militia, just a handful of civilians."_

" _Copy that, keep looking."_ Graves ordered in return, his voice as hard as ever. Clearly, the Vice-Admiral was too focused on the task at hand to be bothered about civilian casualties.

" _But I like the way these Spectres kill, eh?"_ Blisk returned, a sick chuckle deep in his voice.

Even as the mercenary spoke, Jake could make out the horrified screams and panicked shouts as the homesteaders were cut down by the Spectres without remorse.

Suddenly, the reality of what was happening here hit Lincoln full-force as he understood the atrocity the IMC were the cause of. Jake was horrified by the truth of what was happening as the dropship finally came into view of the village. Fires raged between the gaps of the shanty-town, civilians running for what they thought would be the safety of the treeline.

Neighbouring fields were littered with corpses, crops set ablaze and blood soaking into the soil. The IMC Spectres gunning down field-hands and colonists without hesitation. The Spectres - unthinking unfeeling machines with only one directive; to kill.

And the smell, it was more of a stench, a putrid stink that raced into Jake's nostrils, even though the ventilators of his helmet were designed to withstand against that kind of thing. Lincoln gagged from the smell of burning flesh and fresh blood, mixed with the lingering scent of gunsmoke.

" _Next-gen automated infantry's the future. But taking out a bunch of civilians is hardly a test."_ Blisk summarised.

Hazard's dropship was beginning to slow down now, decelerating and lowering itself to the ground, opting to open the side door, rather than extend the ramp at the ship's rear end. Jake and the rest of the occupants disembarked. As Ace looked around, he cast wary glances to the other members of Hazard. He couldn't see their expressions behind their helmets, but he hoped that they were as horrified as he was by the sick display of power on show here.

" _Sir! It looks like Militia ships! Deploying ground forces at the north end of the village!"_ A different voice announced on the shared IMC frequency.

As the report came in, Jake turned his head to look at the northern end of the village. He could just about make out the obscured shape of Militia dropships coming to a stop low above the ground, partially hidden by the smoke from the fire and fog of the grasslands.

" _Now that's a real threat! Deploy three more racks of Spectres!"_

Soon enough, Jake and the rest of Hazard had disembarked the dropship, landing on the hard ground of the colony. The last of the settlers had made their way from the carnage they once called home, Jake wanted to go after them and make amends, but the gunfire from the first of the Militia arrivals quickly reminded him of the mission.

Sliding behind the cover of a nearby wrecked vehicle, Lincoln let off a few shots from his SMG, his blind-firing was poorly-aimed, but it accomplished what he'd wanted. The bark of gunfire made the Militia Grunts dive into cover, allowing Jake a few precious moments to lay siege to them. Running along the side of a house for momentum, Jake downed three Militia riflemen on the ground, their bodies hitting the ground before Jake landed from his wall-run.

By now, the others members of Hazard had peeled away, engaging their own targets and enemy Pilots as their training dictated. The Spectres had set their sights on the M-COR by now, and advanced on the invaders without fear of being killed. Relentlessly marching towards the Militia's entrenched positions, they flushed the Grunts out of cover, gunning them down with their weapons.

Despite the atrocity the machines had committed against the people of the colony; Jake had to admit they were rather effective against an armed and retaliating enemy.

Jake could tell from his position that some of the Militia Grunts were panicking from the Spectres unrelenting offensive. They dispatched the enemy quickly and efficiently, without mercy or hesitation. It was a truly intimidating sight to see.

Though, while the new Spectres may have been an issue for the Grunts, they posed no challenge to the Militia Pilots that eliminated them with pin-point accuracy. As soon as Jake had a clear shot on an interfering Pilot, he took his opportunity, riddling them with bullets before they could react.

Before long, Ace already had at least three Pilot kills under his belt, using the Spectres as bait. He knew the tactic wouldn't work for long though, the Militia would learn soon enough. In the mean time, Jake was busy efficiently downing decent groups of Militia Grunts at a time.

As if to confirm his theory, Jake heard bullets whiz past his helmet, missing his head by millimetres. In another moment, he felt bullets scrape his armoured shoulder-pauldron, gouging out grooves in the impact-resistant material and scratching the white IMC paint on it.

Jake cursed, diving inside a building for better cover, leaving the Spectres outside to do their work. Jake mumbled to himself as he got off the ground, only to be met with the barrel of a rifle, pointed directly at his face, mere centimetres from his visor.

The woman holding it couldn't have been older than twenty, and her hands shook in fear as she stared wide-eyed at the Pilot. For a moment, Jake froze, unsure of what to do. A few seconds went by, gunfire echoing outside the pre-fab house, the air pregnant with tension.

"I'm not here to hurt you." Jake told the woman, trying to break the ice.

In response, she swung her fist at him, landing a blow on his arm. Jake hardly felt it underneath his armour, but he still gasped slightly from surprise. Why not just shoot him with her weapon?

" _Liar!"_ She hissed; her scared eyes now replaced with a burning hatred.

Jake's eyes narrowed at the accusation, but he quickly realised she didn't mean him in particular, but the IMC as a whole.

"What?" He replied, lost for words.

" _IMC_ _bastard_. We wanted no part of your war. We're farmers, for God's sake! We aren't a danger to you." She seethed, voice dripping with fury.

"If you aren't a danger; then why are you holding a gun to my face?" Jake asked. His question didn't defuse her temper though; instead it seemed to make her angrier.

"I should kill you..." She whispered, more to herself than anything else.

"Why don't you?" Jake retorted. "You clearly think I deserve it, don't you?" He pressed his forehead onto the barrel; his helmet wouldn't protect him from a shot at point-blank range. "Maybe I do." Jake reflected, thinking about the things he'd done and the people he'd killed to survive.

The woman's face flashed briefly with confusion, and Jake saw her furrow her eyebrows in contempt for him, but with a hint of curiosity too.

"Give me a reason not to shoot you." She hissed at him, clearly having second thoughts about ending Jake's life.

"Because, like it or not, I'm probably your best chance for getting out of here alive." Ace told her firmly.

"How'd you figure that one out?" She took a cautionary step backwards.

"Those machines out there? The Spectres? They'll shoot you on _sight_ if you step out of this door, but if you come with me, I can show you a way to reach safety." Jake replied.

Screams of civilians and gunfire echoed around them, as if to affirm what he was warning her about the Spectres.

"There's an old ship a few miles away from here – the _Odyssey_. That's where survivors will go if they manage to escape." The woman spoke, her eyes never leaving Jake's visor for a moment.

"I can get you as far as the edge of the fields, but I can't be away from my Squad for too long, it'll raise questions. But I'll do my best to get you out of here – _alive._ "

The young woman stared at Jake for a few more moments before lowering her weapon, nodding at him with a new resolve in her eyes.

"Okay, then." Jake smiled as he stood up. "I'll check if the coast is clear. Round up any other civilians that you can, then wait here for me, okay?"

She nodded, new determination in her eyes. "Okay. Just hurry."

Jake almost didn't hear her response, as he quickly darted out of the pre-fab house, searching from any immediate threats. He had half a mind to just abandon the woman, and leave her to the fate that awaited her, like so many others in the village already.

But Jake knew he couldn't just leave her behind. It wasn't his mission to shoot innocent civilians as soon as he saw them. He was here to protect the Spectres, that was all. If he could save this woman from the wrath of the merciless machines, it would be worth it, and it _technically_ wouldn't be against orders either.

But his musings were cut short as an explosion to his right knocked him through the side of a building, slamming him onto the floorboards of the building on the other side.

 **VIIIIIV**

Nestled in the nest of a tower overlooking the entirety of the village, Jurgen Haynes examined the battlefield through the scope of his Amped Kraber sniper rifle, searching for any enemy Pilots or Grunts. The Militia Pilot investigated the rooftops below him with a watchful eye. He could hear the constant gunfire and frequent explosions, but all the fighting seemed to be a world away from him.

Even the small number of Titans that had fallen onto the battlefield didn't bother him. He had a job to do, a role to fulfil. He would make sure that his task was carried out to the best of his ability.

Kill any IMC stupid enough to walk into his sights.

After a few minutes of waiting, an IMC Pilot jumped up onto one of the rooftops, running across the corrugated roof with obvious haste. Haynes smirked as he zeroed in on the Pilot, firing a single shot that arced through the space between them, thudding into the Pilot's head. His body sank to the floor, blood and brain matter splayed across the roofing tiles.

The surnames of each Pilot was written on their chest-plate, which Jurgen easily saw with his high-powered scope. He made a point of learning the names of his victims. He felt a sense of closure if he didn't just eliminate nameless members of the opposition. Maybe it was due to some deep-seated sense of honour, or perhaps it was due to a grim satisfaction that he got from knowing the identity of those he killed.

His most recent kill was called; _'Nakamura'_.

"Scratch another IMC Pilot." Haynes spoke into his intercom with grim satisfaction, as he slammed back the receiver, ejecting the empty magazine from his sniper rifle, slotting another magazine in as quickly as possible. His Kraber boomed again, a bullet slicing through the air and ripping into an IMC Grunt far below. "That's four now, I think."

" _Good work, Shroud."_ His Squad leader, Vladimir 'Vodnik' Zuyev replied over the comms. _"Make sure the IMC keep their heads down. Eliminate any Pilot foolish enough to walk into your crosshairs."_

"Roger that, boss." Haynes returned to the Russian man, as he swept over the battlefield through the lens of his scope, sighting another IMC Pilot. He made a quick note of the name written on the Pilot's chest-piece too.

 _Lincoln._

Shroud narrowed his squinted eye that looked through the lens and held his breath to reduce his weapon's sway, holding the crosshair of his scope directly over the Pilot's helmet. He took note of the playing card strapped to the Pilots shoulder, shrugging it off as a personal memento of his. He was about to squeeze the trigger, but the IMC Pilot suddenly moved to the right, obscured from Haynes' sight by a building.

Shroud grunted in annoyance as he looked for something to kill the Pilot with, he looked around for a moment before seeing a fuel canister near where the Pilot had left his vision. Smiling, he let out a shot at the canister, igniting the fuel inside. A fiery explosion engulfed the space he'd last seen the Pilot in, and soon enough a fire had started in the building that the Pilot had escaped into.

Indirect as the method may have been, maybe Haynes had killed him after all.

 **VIIIIIV**

Jake groaned as he came to. He slowly opened his eyes as he coughed, his breaths coming in difficult and ragged inhalations. There was smoke, everywhere. Jake began to panic as he tried to piece together what had happened moments earlier.

He'd been running from the building he'd found that woman in, to check if the coast was clear. Clearly, it hadn't been, as Jake recalled the intense heat from the fiery explosion that had knocked him off of his feet and into a nearby building. He tried to stand, and his back protested at the effort.

"Spades?" Jake asked.

" _I'm here, Lincoln."_ The A.I.'s voice spoke into his ear-piece.

"Give me a damage report."

" _Your armour shows signs of extensive burn damage, but you are not wounded. You have suffered only superficial damage."_ Spades reported to the Pilot.

Jake nodded as he coughed again. The building was going to go up in flames. He needed to get out of here as soon as he could.

"What's the fastest way out of here, Spades?" Jake hastily asked the OS.

" _Analysing terrain..."_ Spades droned, emitting a small beep moments later. _"Route identified, please proceed to the waypoint."_

As soon as Jake saw the blue highlight on his HUD, he ran full tilt towards it, weaving around burning furniture and ducking under the torrents of smoke that billowed around the house. Jake coughed violently as he ran; the built-in respirator in his helmet only able to filter so much oxygen. Bursting through a damaged door, Jake emerged into the open air, falling to the ground in relief. The flaming splinters of the entrance falling around him as Lincoln coughed and sputtered, inhaling deep breaths of the clean air.

" _Pilot, my scans indicate that the explosion that propelled you into the burning building was caused by a sniper's bullet. I have determined a likely point-of-origin of the shooter."_ Spades reported as Jake's breathing began to even out.

Lincoln rose to his feet, unholstering his sidearm. He'd lost his sub-machine gun in the explosion, so he'd have to make do with the powerful revolver.

"You're certain they're there?" Jake asked.

" _My analysis indicates that the shooter is located there, with an accuracy of ninety-six point two percent."_ Spades inclined. The synthetic seemed to have an almost sarcastic tone to his droning speech, making Jake raise an eyebrow in amusement.

Just his luck that he'd get the _sassy_ artificial intelligence...

"Roger that, Spades, I'll see if I can get rid of him." Jake smiled, setting off at a run towards the tower overlooking the village.

Jake keyed in his comms to contact David as he began to wallrun towards his goal.

"David, do you read me? Over." Jake asked the white noise and crackling on the radio.

" _This is Lurch, go ahead, Ace."_ Turner returned.

"I've got a fix on a Militia sniper positioned at the top of the crow's nest of the watch-tower, can you draw his attention while I move in to eliminate him?" Jake reported, asking David the favour as politely as he could.

Jake dispatched a few Grunts in the time it took David to respond.

" _Leave it to me, Jake. Over and out."_

Lincoln wasn't sure what David did, but within a few moments, the Pilot sniper in the tower began firing in a direction facing away from Jake. Lincoln assumed it was due to some action his mentor had taken, and he hoped that the man would be alive by the time Jake had dealt with the shooter. While the sniper was distracted by David, Lincoln ran towards his objective, clambering up ledges and propelling himself using whatever handholds he could grasp, Jake made his way up the tower's sheer wall. He did his best to climb as quietly as possible, so the Militia Pilot wouldn't know he was coming, and so didn't use his jump-pack for the last third of the climb.

As he neared the top of the watch-tower, Jake could make out the sniper talking to himself; often swearing in annoyance at his inability to kill whoever he was shooting at, presumably David. Jake pulled himself over the edge of the railing, and was immediately greeted with the hunched-over form of the Militia Pilot, armed with the unmistakably long barrel of a high-calibre sniper rifle. The ground around him was littered with bullet casings and discarded magazines, and the scent of gunsmoke hung heavy in the air. Clearly, this sniper had been doing a good job of eliminating IMC assets.

Lincoln drew his revolver, pointing the barrel of the gun directly at the shooter's head. At this range, the bullet would easily pierce the sniper's helmet, making for a quick and merciful death. Pulling the hammer back, Lincoln took a moment to steel himself. His finger began to squeeze on the trigger.

He had no idea how the sniper knew he was there, but in an instant, the man had whipped around to face him. The move surprised Jake so much that he flinched, his body automatically moving to step backwards, away from what his brain flagged as danger. The Militia Pilot, taking the opportunity, knocked the revolver out of Lincoln's hands, and it skittered across the floor. The Militia Pilot's sniper rifle would be of no use at such close range, and so the two Pilots were soon exchanging punches and jabs, each trying to eliminate the other with strikes and hard-hitting blows.

The fight was tough for both Pilots. Each had their own strengths in close-quarters, and techniques that each would have to counter before attempting an attack of their own. The sniper pulled out his data knife, holding the small blade at the ready with obvious expertise. Jake made it a point to keep well out of the blade's reach. The pace of the fighting was furious, one that left neither Pilot unscathed. Within a minute, Jake was marked with several cuts along his arms and chest. His armour did a good job of keeping his skin protected, but he was beginning to tire from the fast-paced struggle. The Militia Pilot fought with obvious knowledge and strength that nearly overcame the rookie IMC Pilot.

 _Nearly._

Because Jake knew what he was doing. The sniper was faster than him, and Lincoln used it to his advantage. He knew that the sniper would tire much faster due to his quicker movement.Using his comparatively better armour to his benefit, Jake managed to block most of the other Pilot's strikes as they traded blows. For now, Lincoln was playing it defensively, keeping his guard up as the Militia Pilot continued to jab and stab at him.

The sniper took no shortage of blows himself, and soon his inferior armour was cracking under the unrelenting hail of hits. When it appeared that the Militia Pilot was slow enough from his tiring moves, Jake feigned left. The other Pilot fell for it, and Lincoln took the opportunity to deliver a punishing blow to his opponent's visor, knocking him off-balance. The Militia Pilot grunted in pain, stepping back to regain his senses, the sniper backpedalled a little, taking a moment to breathe.

That was when Lincoln took his chance, and struck.

Ignoring his fatigue and aching body, Jake ran at the Pilot, ducking under a final swing of the data-knife that sliced the air mere inches above his helmet. Lincoln proceeded to shove his shoulder into the Pilot's stomach, shoving his body against the ledge of the crow's nest. The man doubled over – winded from the blow. Jake saw his opportunity to finish their skirmish.

Bringing his knee up to the Militia Pilot's helmet, Jake's armoured kneecap slammed into the shooter's visor, cracking the material, leaving deep grooves in the screen. The Militia Pilot, dazed and confused, tried to lean on the ledge for support, attempting to recover from the blow.

But Lincoln wasn't done yet.

Taking his own data-knife from the sheathe on his hip, he lunged. Impaling the other Pilot's chest, through the broken armour and the muscle and sinew of his chest, the blade plunged into the vital organs inside the man's chest. After a moment, Jake removed the knife from its fleshy scabbard, the blade leaving the Militia Pilot's chest with a wet sucking sound.

The sniper looked down at the red stain that was spreading on his torso, then looked up at Jake, who still stood there at the ready, as if expecting a last-ditch effort from his enemy. But the Militia Pilot simply depolarised his cracked visor instead, revealing his face.

He was... _young_.

Laugh lines were clear on his features, and deep brown eyes that would have usually held merriment and determination, now only dimmed with each passing moment, his youthful face showing his all-too-obvious pain. Jake realised with dread that the man couldn't have been much older than he was. Soon though, the light of life left the Pilot's eyes. With a final rasping sigh, accompanied by the stream of blood dribbling out of his mouth, the Pilot fell backwards, his body carried over the railing of the crow's nest, only to be claimed by gravity in the next moment and fell down the three-story drop to the planet's surface.

With a long exhalation, Jake fell to his knees, exhausted from the fight. His eyes were wide and his breathing came raggedly all of a sudden. He'd killed someone so young, and for _what?_ The IMC were here, _murdering_ civilians. What was he doing, killing people who were trying to help the innocent people being slaughtered? Trying to prevent the massacre Jake and his faction were responsible for?

A solid minute went by before Lincoln collected himself, trying to push the troubling thoughts to the back of his mind. From somewhere below him, Jake made out the tell-tale sign of a Militia Titan stomping around, trying to eliminate as many IMC as possible. No matter his thoughts on what the IMC were doing to this colony, he had a duty to protect the helpless Grunts down on the ground.

"Spades, are you ready to drop?" Jake asked as he tried to discern the best place to call down his Titan. While he waited for the synthetic to answer, he claimed his discarded B3 Wingman from the floor, giving it a once-over for damage. He holstered it on his thigh as Spades replied.

" _Affirmative, Pilot. Standing by."_ The A.I. reported in his ear.

Jake swallowed the lump in his throat, designating a drop-zone near the base of the tower with his helmet's built-in laser pointer. Immediately, a small green circle appeared there on his HUD, a small Titan icon in its centre.

" _Request authorised, stand-by for Titanfall."_ The machine droned.

Jake cast his gaze skywards, seeing a small fireball descending on the battlefield rom the _Argonaut_ hanging in low orbit above the planet's surface. The Pilot smiled as the fireball crashed into the ground.

A light blue dome-shield sprung up around the Titan, and Jake hastily descended the tower in order to reach Spades. The Militia Titan hadn't seen the drop yet, but Lincoln knew its obliviousness wouldn't last for long. As soon as his feet made contact with the ground, he sprinted over to his Atlas and clambered into the cockpit, the hatch closing behind him.

" _Welcome back, Lincoln. I kept the seat warm for you."_ Spades cheerfully reported, his humour not unnoticed by the Pilot.

"Cheers, Spades." Jake replied, quickly directing the Titan to engage the Militia Titan he'd seen before. He then triggered the hatch release, allowing him to disembark the machine. As quickly as he could, Jake made his way over to where he'd asked the colonist woman to meet him.

" _Pilot?"_ Spades called on his ear-piece, _"Do you still wish for this unit to engage the hostile Titan?"_

"Yes, Spades." Jake replied between breaths. "Try and draw it away from the village." He added – _and away from the villagers_ , he thought to himself.

" _Understood, Pilot. I calculate a sixty-four percent chance that my chassis will be destroyed as a result of this engagement. The targeted Titan has a hostile Pilot occupying it. As a result, the hostile is far more likely to prevail over my Auto-Titan programming."_

"Just buy me as much time as you can, Spades, please!" Jake ordered. He hated to waste his Titan as a distraction, but he hated the idea of leaving the colonists to die even more.

" _Understood."_ Spades replied. _"Commencing attack."_

Just as Spades began his offense, Jake reached the pre-fab he'd asked the woman to meet him in. His face fell when he saw there was only her and two other refugees. It was likely that everyone else was dead by now, Jake realised with a guilty flush.

The woman snapped her shotgun at the door upon Jake's arrival, but Lincoln quickly reassured her it was him, here to make good on his promise to get them out alive.

"Didn't think you'd come back." She admitted.

"I wasn't too sure myself, but a promise is a promise." He returned. "Is this everyone?" He gestured to the other two refugees, who stared at his IMC gear with distrust and fear. Jake realised they weren't as afraid of him as they were afraid of what he stood for and what the IMC had done to them.

"Everyone I could find." She nodded, then looked at the floor sombrely. "Everybody else is..." She trailed off.

Jake stepped forward, attracting her attention to him once more.

"I'm sorry for your loss. Truly, I am. But there's nothing you can do for them now." He gestured to the two others in the room, a boy who couldn't be older than ten and a man who looked to be around sixty years old. "But there's still hope for you."

She nodded, and Jake steeled himself to think about how much she'd lost today. Her home, her friends, her family. Her very life burned to ash. All gone.

And it was all Jake's fault.

He briefly wondered if he was doing this because he sub-consciously thought it would be a way of atoning for the tragedy that was happening here, or if it was just a matter of saving what remained. But Jake didn't have long to decide, as another IMC Pilot burst into the room in the next moment.

The new-comer levelled his Hemlok at the three villagers, ready to pull the trigger.

 **VIIIIIV**

Before a shot could be let off, Lincoln dived into the space between the Pilot and the villagers, blocking the newcomer's line of sight on his targets.

"Stop!" Jake bellowed, causing the IMC Pilot to pause and glance at him. He lowered his weapon slightly in response to the shout. Jake glanced down at the name on the Pilot's chest-plate, inwardly wincing at the name stamped there.

 _Turner._

"Jake?" David asked; the confusion was evident in his voice. "What are you doing?"

Jake took a step towards his mentor, holding out his hand in a non-threatening way.

"These people haven't done anything wrong, Turner." Lincoln pointed out. "They're innocent."

Jake could tell the other Pilot was conflicted from his sullen silence, but he eventually spoke.

"We have orders, Ace." David reminded him. "I don't like it anymore than you, but this is our job."

"Our job is to _murder_ harmless villagers?!" Jake exclaimed in disbelief. "These people haven't done anything wrong."

"They're Militia sympathisers." David retorted. "They're one step away from joining the terrorists."

"They're harmless."

"Maybe they are _today_ , but tomorrow they could be the enemy, Jake." David firmly spoke. "It's a risk the IMC can't afford to take."

" _Look at them_ , David!" Lincoln nearly shouted, pointing to the scared boy in the corner, huddling next to the withered old man next to him for comfort. "For fuck's sake; one of them is a child, and another is an old man!" David said nothing for a moment, so Jake pressed on him again. "What danger could a child and an old man possibly pose if the IMC mobilises an army to _murder them,_ before they can step out of line?!"

David hesitated, and Jake hoped he'd done enough to persuade the man to help him. If he hadn't, he'd likely receive a court-martial. A long moment went by before David responded. Jake hoped that his mentor's new sense of morality David had seemed to receive from his operation would influence his decision.

"Fine. I'll help you, but we're having a talk after the mission's over."

Jake nodded, blowing out a long sigh of relief. He let the sidearm he'd been aiming at David's stomach drop to his side, and he turned to face the woman again, who eyed the pair with understandable scepticism and distrust.

"He's here to help, I promise." Jake spoke in a calming voice. "We're getting you out of here, okay?"

A few minutes later, the five of them were rushing out of the door towards safety. David led the way for the woman and the boy, and Jake provided support for the old man, who hobbled after the trio.

They made their way from house to house as fast as they could manage. The colonists were terrified, wide-eyed like rabbits being hunted by a ravenous fox. Jake was too busy worrying about being caught to think of anything else. The old man Jake was carrying groaned occasionally, and Jake winced inwardly every time he did so. He wanted to allow the pensioner a moment to rest every once in a while, but time was of the essence.

They were at the outskirts of the village now, in an area the IMC had already wiped clean of any resistance, so no Grunts, Pilots or Spectres seemed to disturb them as David checked the coast was clear one last time. He made a motion with his hands once they were all ready to make the last part of their journey.

Making their way from the house to the edge of the treeline, Jake began to feel the edges of a triumphant smile emerge on his face as the relief washed over him like a tidal wave.

"Oi, Pilots." A heavily-accented voice that Jake was all too familiar with called out to them.

Jake turned to see the form of the heartless mercenary walking slowly towards them, like a predator closing in on its helpless prey. He was flanked by an entire Squad of Spectres, all of which aimed their weapons squarely at Jake and the villagers.

Blisk chuckled evilly to himself as if he'd found a long-lost prized possession as he approached them. Jake went to draw his revolver to defend himself if necessary, but it was too late for that.

Two Spectres closed in on him, striking him hard in the chest with metal fists, they wrenched the old man away to put him with the two other villagers as another two forced Jake to his knees, removing his helmet as they did so.

Jake looked over to David as his green eyes saw the mercenary approach him. He was almost shocked to see his mentor unopposed by the Spectres. Unrestrained by any of the reinforcements, he just looked at the ground in what Jake could only assume was shame or regret.

Jake felt a rush of anger as he realised what had happened.

They'd been caught, and Lincoln knew at that exact moment that the colonists wouldn't be leaving the village alive after all. Jae had made a promise he wouldn't be able to keep. These were probably their last minutes to live.

 _Hell, they're probably mine too..._ Jake thought to himself as he let his gaze drop to the floor, not giving the mercenary the satisfaction of seeing the regret and defeat on his face.

"People like you..." Blisk growled as he paced in front of Jake's kneeling form, a scowl on his cruel lips, "...always want to be the _hero_."

The man smirked to himself as he brought his knife out slowly and knelt down in front of Jake, still restrained by the Spectres, arms held tightly behind his back. Lincoln didn't raise his head, keeping his eyes glued to the floor.

"The only problem with being a hero is you have to _die_ for what you believe in." He stroked Jake's cheek with the tip of the blade, scratching his flesh but not breaking the skin. "If I were you?" Blisk let out a slow, menacing chuckle. "I wouldn't try so hard."

Jake swallowed nervously, looking up to see the cruel eyes of the mercenary burn into his own. Kuben leant over and whispered into Jake's ear.

" _You'll live longer."_

Jake didn't flinch as Blisk let his blade snake down from Lincoln's face to his throat, the serrated edge pressing very lightly on his neck. A little more pressure or a casual flick of Blisk's wrist; and he'd be dead.

Jake's life was completely at the mercy of the mercenary.

Lincoln refused to break eye contact with the man, not willing to be the first to back down from the unspoken stand-off.

"Let him go, Blisk." David suddenly spoke up.

Blisk didn't look away from Jake, his eyes still burrowing into Jake's bright green orbs. The mercenary simply waited for Turner to elaborate instead.

"This isn't his fault. The kid's still a rookie. It's his first time seeing our way of handing out justice." David continued. "He's confused, not in his mind at all."

Then, David said something that _hurt_. The words cut into Jake's very soul, making him wonder if he was worth anything to his mentor.

" _He's not worth the effort."_

Lincoln hoped that David was only saying that to save his skin, but it still stung Jake to his very core. Ace ground his teeth and clenched his jaw as he heard David utter those words. A long moment went by without a single noise being made, except for the far-off gunfire and explosions that echoed to where they were all gathered.

In the end, it was Blisk who conceded first. Chuckling to himself, he took the large knife away from Jake and stood up, twirling the grip of the blade in his right-hand.

The Spectres still held him there, though. Their cold, metal hands gripping his shoulders so tightly Jake knew he'd get bruises within a few hours, but he didn't care. Blisk flashed Jake a cocky smirk, his eyes switching from the Pilot to the woman, the child and the old man, the colonists that Jake had spared from the Spectres execution.

Jake let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding as Blisk regarded the three harmless civilians for a few moments, turning his attention to their faces. Fear was etched into every detail of their expressions. Fear of the IMC, of the Spectres, but of Blisk more than anything.

Kuben said nothing as he stood, backing away a few paces from the colonists. They similarly let out a loud sigh of relief. But their relief was short-lived, as Blisk suddenly drew his beefy revolver, landing a shot between the eyes of each colonist within instants of each other.

The boom of the shots rang out all around Jake as his face went slack in disbelief. He almost cried out in anger and sorrow, but Lincoln managed to hold his tongue.

"We don't take prisoners." Blisk told Jake as he walked off, holstering the weapon.

As he strode off, the Spectres restraining Jake released their iron grip, stepping to follow the mercenary, leaving Lincoln to catch his breath as he stared at the twitching corpses before him. David stayed for a few moments longer before he too turned and walked away, leaving Jake alone with the bodies.

He was left silently wondering what their deaths had accomplished, what the IMC had to gain from the slaughter of the innocent civilians.

When no answer came to him, Jake stood, muttered a quick prayer for the three murdered colonists and began a walk that would eventually take him to a transport to get him on-board the _Argonaut_. His mind was made up now. Jake knew what he needed to do, for the first time in three years; he knew exactly what to do.

As soon as the next opportunity presented itself; Jake was defecting. He'd been in the presence of murderers and contract killers for too long - longer than he could bear. Whether he liked it or not, he knew he'd have to betray his friends, his duty and his mentor to do the right thing. The massacre that had happened today was the last straw.

Jake was going to desert the IMC.

He just hoped that David, and Roe, could forgive him for what he was going to do.


	7. Chapter VI - A Change of Heart

**Just a quick note before you start this chapter, I am no longer accepting OC's. Thank you to everyone who submitted one, as I will try to include all of them in one form or another. Anyway, on with the chapter!**

The Brotherhood of Battle

Chapter 6 – A Change of Heart

"The rebels are falling back to the wreck of an old IMC carrier, the 'Odyssey'." Blisk announced to the Pilots in the drop-bay. "You're here to kill them before they escape, got that? This fight is what you were born for!"

Jake just ignored him, his eyes staring into the middle-distance. All the noise around him became just that – noise. He was _hearing_ Hazard talking amongst themselves; but he wasn't _listening_. Even the high-pitched whine of the drop-ships engines seemed distant and akin to white noise, automatically blocked out by his inner debate.

All Jake could think about were those three colonists that were murdered in front of him, not even an hour ago. Their bodies were probably still lying there, just shy of the safety of the trees. If only Jake had been a little faster in defeating that Pilot on top of the tower, if only he'd escorted them out of the village with a little more haste – they might still be alive, and not mutilated and forgotten in a ditch, the luke-warm bodies and glassy eyes never to be used again.

He hadn't even known their _names._ That was the worst part.

To think that they once had a life all of their own. The old man he'd tried to save may have had a pretty long life already, but the woman and the child? All of their days were gone now, stolen by the bullets of a mercenary who lived for death and the profit that came from bringing misery to others.

"Snap out of it." Someone interrupted, cutting into Jake's thoughts.

Jake flinched visibly at the interruption, looking at whoever had snapped him away from his thoughts with a look of annoyance, though they wouldn't be able to see it through his opaque visor.

"Huh?" Jake blurted out, turning to see David standing next to him, helmet off. A concerned look was etched into his face, an unfamiliar sight that made Jake even more uneasy, if anything.

"Get your head in the game." David told him, his tone soft and his voice gentle. "I'm sorry about what happened with those villagers, but we've got a job to do."

"I'm fine." Jake lied, doing his best to ignore the stabs of shame and regret that lingered in him whenever he thought about the sudden execution.

Jake stayed quiet after that, letting his silence be filled with the hum of the engines and the chatter of the other Pilots in the dropship. He cast his gaze out the port-side window, staring at the other small ships that kept pace with theirs. As they had ascended the mountains to search for the _Odyssey_ , the terrain had become more and more unforgiving. Sheer cliffs and mountainous peaks surrounded the dozen drop ships, flying in a tight and controlled formation. The craggy outcrops seemed to stretch towards them like malevolent fingers, desperate to catch a reckless pilot unaware.

Soon enough, the wreckage of a derelict IMC carrier became visible to the Pilots, and Jake looked as they circled the husk of the ship like vultures over a fresh carcass. It was derelict, with severe damage from an obvious crash-landing or other unfortunate circumstance.

A couple of minutes went by, the conversations died down and the whirring of the engines eclipsed any other noise. The clicking of weapons and gear was audible but dulled out by the spinning rotors and the sudden appearance of Graves and Spyglass on the shared IMC frequency.

" _I am scanning the wreckage of the ship, registered as the 'Odyssey'. Reported lost to mutiny under your command, Vice-Admiral."_ Spyglass announced in his droning robotic voice.

" _I'm well aware of the history of the ship, and I know who's responsible for its present condition. What I want to know is how it got here."_ Graves replied in a slightly annoyed voice.

Spyglass did not respond.

As the drop ships decelerated and began the descent towards the insertion point, Jake could make out a faded IMC paint-job on the dilapidated carrier, a name decorated on its starboard side in aged white paint.

' _Odyssey'._

" _It was only a matter of time..."_ Graves mumbled over the comms. Jake what confused about what he was referring to, and he shot David a look as the larger man slid on his helmet, his visor already polarised. _"Pilots, get ready to move! Secure the site."_

Moments later, the ramp at the rear end of the ship lowered, the Pilots inside the ship sprinting towards the edge of the slope. Suddenly, all the shame and anger that had been hanging over Jake like a shroud suddenly disappeared. Replaced by the inexplicable tranquillity of the knowledge that a battle was about to begin. It was a strange calm that washed over his mind, focusing Jake on one thing that he didn't expect to be dedicated to; staying with David, if only for a chance to say goodbye.

Before he deserted the IMC, forever.

 **VIIIIIV**

The main IMC task force was fast approaching the Militia's fortifications on the _Odyssey_ , and the few SRS Pilots that Sarah had been able to deploy before the IMC had arrived had successfully beaten back IMC scouting parties without too much trouble. A few Grunts had been taken away on stretchers for emergency evacuations, but so far, that was the worst thing to happen. Sarah knew that such fortune wouldn't last for long though, their luck wouldn't hold out for long, especially against qualified IMC Pilots.

The guerrilla tactics that the Militia used easily overwhelmed the small groups of Grunts that dared to approach the _Odyssey_ ahead of the other attackers. But such strategies would be no match for the tidal wave of infantry and Pilots that would storm the area in less than two minutes.

All the while, Pilot Vladimir 'Vodnik' Zuyev had been co-ordinating fields of fire for the past few minutes, designating which areas troops should focus fire on once the IMC arrived in force. He had also asked that multiple barricades be set up inside the corridors of the _Odyssey,_ and had blocked off the bridge completely so Macallan could obtain the information he needed from the ship's navigation systems. He didn't want a stray IMC Pilot finding access to the ex-IMC veteran before the fight was over – it would make for a short battle.

Sniper towers had been occupied by the marksmen they had on hand at such short notice. He was disappointed that one of his squad-members had been killed in the battle for the village. Their best shot had been killed by an IMC Pilot on top of the tower he'd been stationed on. Vodnik would mourn the loss of the sniper, but now wasn't the time for that. He had bigger things to worry about.

The other squad members under his command, Golsan and Spectre, had retreated from their duties eliminating IMC scout parties and were now by Vodnik's side - well, Spectre was. Golsan was busy setting up a carefully calculated defensive perimeter, ordering Grunts around the edge of the protective fortifications that shielded the _Odyssey_. Vodnik trusted the young Pilot to make the right decisions regarding the defence of the carrier, if his icy-cold approach to battle was anything to go by.

"Vlad, where's Sarah?" Desmond 'Spectre' Lockett asked him, breaking him from his tactical hypnosis.

The veteran Pilot trusted that she had been able to get to a safe location and evacuate before the oncoming IMC force had arrived.

"She'll be fine. It's us you need to focus on." Vodnik replied, thinking for a moment. "Here, take this." Vlad told him, as he handed Desmond his sidearm.

Desmond regarded the weapon for a moment, then looked at his squad leader in mild shock.

"Vodnik, I can't. _This_ , it means so much to you." Spectre urged, pushing the weapon away from himself slightly.

Vlad looked down at the firearm. It was true, the gun meant a lot to him. It had been given to him by his wife as a present, before his life had been shattered only a few months later. In a way, it was one of the only things he had left of the woman he had loved.

Vodnik shook his head, shaking off the memory, he had to focus.

"I'm giving it to you, so you can give it back, got it?" Vladimir instructed the younger Pilot. Vodnik smiled reassuringly. "Plus, it has a pretty mean punch too – so, you know, that doesn't hurt either." Vlad chuckled, "Come on, get ready, they'll be here any minute." Vodnik instructed, his usual authoritative air returning to him.

Desmond nodded and polarised his visor, hiding his face from view. Almost reluctantly, he took the pistol from Vodnik's outstretched palm and strode away.

"Phoros, you ready?" Vladimir asked over his comm-link.

"I've done all I can. I've ordered our guys to set up criss-crossing fields of fire on the main entrances. It should send any Grunts that come in this way a clear message." Palmer 'Phoros' Golsan responded with a dry chuckle.

"Good thinking. Bish, what's the word on IMC forces?" He asked, changing the channel to contact the proficient hacker instead.

"Not long, boss. I'd advise you to position yourself where you can ambush some Pilots and make it easier on our boys down there. And hurry, they're almost here." Bish told in a commanding tone. Vodnik may have been the squad leader - and a Pilot - but he wasn't afraid to take orders from the technician or his team, they were his friends after all.

Vodnik didn't need to reply. Instead, a shot rang out somewhere far away from him, a bullet hitting the dirt near his right foot, kicking up a few pieces of soil. Knowing it was as much warning as he was going to get, Vodnik engaged his active camouflage, and sprinted over to a hidden sniper squat that was inhabited by two Grunts with long-rifles. They nodded to him with respect as the Pilot clambered to the top of the tower. Vodnik crouched down, taking position at his new vantage point, and got a good look at the opposition for the first time.

At least a hundred IMC infantry were approaching the ship. Dozens of Grunt squads were running full-tilt at the carrier, weapons raised and teeth bared.

They were being led by some Pilots, their armour making for a distinct figure amongst the riflemen that surrounded them. Vodnik already knew that these would be the vanguard of Pilots, the tip of the spear. More Pilots would be clambering along the sides of the Odyssey, looking for a way in. Further back, Vlad could make out the misshapen hunks of metal and death that were the IMC Titans. There seemed to be three in total, hanging back for now. His stomach dropped at the thought of the damage they could inflict, but they remained motionless for now.

Watching. Waiting.

But for what?

 _We'll cross that bridge when we come to it;_ Vodnik thought to himself.

"All personnel, hold fire until I say so." Vodnik commanded on the shared Militia frequency. Immediately, the fortification he was standing on fell quiet.

"Ready, aim…"

He watched, his courage unwavering, as the first surge of IMC soldiers drew nearer, the Pilots launching through the air on their jump-jets to disperse into the crowd of soldiers behind them to be used as a meat shield. The Grunts approached the _Odyysey_ at a reckless pace; they'd be upon the Militia in seconds.

A foolish decision.

"… _fire!_ " Vodnik commanded.

 **VIIIIIV**

Tapley, captain of Hazard Squad, watched from the seat of his Titan as the mass of infantry continued their advance on the _Odyssey_. He was nervous, waiting like this. It didn't appeal to him, throwing all of the infantry in first, wasting the lives of Grunts just to make a dent in the Militia's defences. The second phase was to get the Pilots through to sew chaos behind the enemy frontlines. Once that was done, the Titans would move in to finish the Militia while they tried to recover from the disarray. It wasn't his plan, but he didn't have any choice but to go through with it.

He looked to his left, seeing the other two Titans standing with their arms crossed, without a care in the world for the battle that was unfolding before them. Blisk, in his personal Ogre Titan, equipped with what could only be described as an enormous belt-fed chain-gun strapped to its back. Apparently, it was the prototype model for a new batch of Titan's that the IMC were currently developing. Tapley had never seen it in action, but he imagined that it could easily eliminate an entire battalion with its beastly weaponry.

Next to Blisk's Titan, stood an Atlas. The Titan itself was quite unremarkable, a typical IMC paint-job adorning its chassis, but with yellow paint sprayed onto its arms. Tapley thought it made for quite a striking aesthetic. He didn't know the Pilot inside of it all that well, only a few minor details. Her name was Slone, one of Blisk's top lieutenant's in his own private mercenary organisation, the 'Apex Predators'. Apparently, she was as loose with her morality as Blisk, but she wasn't as reckless or cold towards the enemy as he was. While she certainly derived enjoyment from killing the Militia, to Tapley's knowledge, she didn't go around killing civilians, claiming them as collateral damage and target practice.

Regardless, the pair of mercenaries were watching the anarchy that was about to be unleashed in the carcass of the wreckage of the _IMS Odyssey_. Tapley hummed in mild disapproval as the first surge of IMC Grunts engaged the fortified Militia forces entrenched there.

 **VIIIIIV**

Bullets flew in all directions, zipping through the air in malicious torrents like a tidal wave of death. The ammunition slammed into the bodies of dozens of Grunts on both sides of the battle as more and more soldiers fell with a resounding thud as the bullets slammed into them and they fell to the floor, dead.

Jake couldn't stop though. To stop was to die. If he could just keep moving, he'd be able to reach the _Odyssey_ , and somewhere where he could take cover from the stream of death. Screams cried out all around him, shrapnel from grenades thumping into the soldiers and ground nearby.

So many bullets.

So many explosions.

So much death.

But he kept running, desperate to reach the relative safety of the _Odyssey_. Even if there were Militia in there, maybe he could avoid the worst of the fighting, and find shelter from the hail of bullets that rained down on him like an ominous rain.

The Pilot ducked behind a pile of scrap that jutted out of the ground, using it as cover. He felt bullets ricochet off the other side of the slab. Jake peeked out, letting out a volley of bullets at a group of Militia, the projectiles ripping through their limbs and felling them in moments. Their remains flopped to the ground, dead before they hit the ground, in most cases.

Jake fell back into the cover of the scrap metal, reloading his weapon, ready to dash out again at a moment's notice. A beat went by as Jake held his breath, waiting to hear any orders to press the assault. He looked to his fellow Pilot's as they all used their jump-jets and active camouflage to scale the _Odyssey_ as fast as they could whilst remaining undetected. Ace waited with bated breath as the seconds ticked by.

Suddenly, another scream sounded out, then another. Soon, a chorus of high-pitched shouting rang out and an untamed roaring echoed down the battlefield towards him. Moments later, the IMC hordes began pouring out of cover towards the entrenched Militia. Dozens of squads ran past Jake's position towards the _Odyssey_ , followed by a few other Pilots wielding their deadly weapons.

The first IMC squads were cut down almost instantly, but they broke through to the Militia's position within a minute. Grunts rushing into their site like a wave. Jake let off a harsh spew of lead from his weapon, downing a few of the Militia as he joined the charge. He hated to admit it, but he was shocked at how it was oddly satisfying how his enemies would perish with a small fountain of blood and gore spewing from the bullet holes.

Jake reloaded, ejecting the empty clip and slamming in another. He fired a couple of bursts before more gunfire joined his. Some IMC Grunts had taken cover next to him, a look of crazed bloodlust in their eyes. Jake should have been horrified at the show of primal desire, but found himself diving out of cover instead to join the charge again. He engaged his cloaking device and ran through a gap in the hull of the ship with the aid of his jump-kit.

The Militia returned fire, their weapons striking down the IMC as they tried to hold their ground against the rush of bodies and the surge of gunfire and explosions. The Militia Grunts took cover behind some rocks, popping out and taking pot-shots at the IMC who were doing the same.

Blisk watched it all with a level of satisfaction. Idiots dying in the name of something greater? They was no better prey to claim. He cracked his knuckles and rolled his neck joints before smiling cruelly and commanding the trio of Titans to move forward to punch through the Militia defences and kill as many units as they could find.

 **VIIIIV**

Jake's efforts to infiltrate the derelict ship were rewarded with more fighting against Grunt squads inside the corridors and ruined hangar areas, but they caused him little trouble as he eliminated them one by one, fighting his way to the objective. His attempts to push through to another passage were cut off as another gunshot whizzed past his head, making him dive into cover and engage his opponents from around the corner of a corridor. Jake looked over to his HUD, watching carefully for any enemy flanking manoeuvres, and saw a small blip running towards him from behind.

Lincoln whipped around, only to be tackled to the ground by a Militia Pilot, his gun skittering across the floor to a dark corner of the hallway, far out of Jake's reach. He wrestled with the Pilot as his opponent tried to aim a pistol at Jake's head.

They scrapped and fought, and after a small while, Jake could feel his limbs burning from fatigue, but he did his best to fend off his attacker. Through their thrashing, the Pilot's pistol was flung away from him, and so the pair jostled with fists instead, thrashing and hitting each other on the ground, each trying and failing to get the upper hand.

But Jake's weariness quickly caught up to him, and soon the Militia Pilot's hands were wrapped around Ace's neck, stealing the air from his lungs, choking him to death. Lincoln gagged and tried to free himself from the iron grip of the stronger Pilot. Jake grasped desperately at the other Pilot's helmet, searching for something to deter the other Pilot with - better yet, something to free himself with. If only he could reach his Data-Knife, then he could free himself.

His fingers tried to pull the blade from its sheathe, but he couldn't reach, as the Militia Pilot had tackled him in a way that stopped him from being able to reach his waist correctly. Jake wanted to keep reaching anyway, but soon everything started to go black. The edges of his vision succumbing to darkness. Inky wisps swirling over his vision, blacking out the rest of the world. This was it, Jake realised, this was how it was going to end.

But Jake didn't want to die. Not yet.

But he couldn't do anything to stop the Militia Pilot now, and he felt his limbs begin to go limp, surrendering to his fate.

Then, a gunshot, booming around the room. The hands around Jake's throat went limp in an instant. The weight of the Militia Pilot falling against him, slack and lifeless.

Lincoln shoved the body of the Pilot to the side, and it flopped to the floor, wilted and unresponsive. Jake coughed and sputtered as his lungs tasted oxygen again after what had seemed like an eternity. He drew in desperate breaths as he looked up at the IMC Pilot who had saved his life.

David.

Jake recovered after a few moments and took the outstretched arm that Turner offered him, helping him stand. As Jake regained his footing, he nodded to the other Pilot in thanks.

"Cheers for that, mate." Ace thanked his mentor.

"No problem. No friend of mine is gonna go out that easy. Watch your back next time, alright?" David advised.

"Why not watch it for me? Stick together; it'll be a hell of a lot easier if we do this as a team." Jake offered.

David thought for a moment before nodding in agreement. Jake knew that David thought that Lincoln could handle himself, but Jake wanted to try and say goodbye to his mentor – and friend – before he deserted him forever. It was the least he owed him.

"Alright, Ace, stick together." David agreed. "Blisk, Tapley and Sloane have started their assault on the carrier. They're securing the entrance as we speak. If everything goes well for a few minutes, we'll have an opportunity to call down our own Titans, but until then, you and I have to make sure the Militia doesn't have anything up their sleeve." David summarised. "Got it?"

"I'll follow your lead." Jake replied, not exactly feeling excited to snuff out more Militia lives.

"That's what I like to hear. With any luck, we'll pin the last of the terrorists here, and finish this war for good." As he had been speaking, David had reclaimed Jake's CAR from down the hall. Throwing the weapon back to its owner, he nodded. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be." Jake told him. David said nothing for a moment, and Jake suddenly wondered how he was going to abandon the one person who had been with him from the beginning of his training. The one person who believed in him.

Leaving this man was going to be one of the most difficult things Jake would ever have to do.

"Good, follow me, Ace." David instructed, taking off at a furious pace down the corridor. Exiting the shaft through the nearest window and out into the conflict around the ship.

 **VIIIIIV**

"Sir, the defences are falling! We have to fall back!" A Grunt desperately begged over Vodnik's communication device in his helmet.

Vodnik grumbled with sour acknowledgement as he snapped the neck of another IMC soldier, gunning three more down before he engaged his cloak and retreated to cover, reloading his assault rifle.

" _Chert poberi._ " Vlad swore as he ducked away from an explosion that was a little too close for comfort. "Bandit Squad, fall back." He ordered his men to retreat.

" _What?"_ Golsan exclaimed in surprise. _"I'm not going to just run, Vodnik."_

Vladimir balled his hand into a fist, his pitch dropping to a more severe tone.

"We're not running, Phoros. It's a tactical retreat." Vlad corrected him. "That's an order, Pilot. Get out of there." He reaffirmed his authority over the younger Pilot. He didn't bother to wait for anybody else's reply, instead switching channels to communicate with Bish, Sarah and Macallan.

"Do you have what we need, old man?" Vodnik enquired as he peeked out of cover to see another squad of IMC Grunts advancing on his position. He dived out of his cover and let off a burst of ammunition in their direction, downing a few soldiers. He ran again, not waiting for the runts to retaliate.

" _Just about."_ Macallan replied. " _And don't call me 'old', I'm only a few years your senior."_

" _Whatever you say, Mack."_ Bish cut in, undoubtedly preparing evacuation shuttles as he spoke. _"We're pulling out of the area. Vodnik, get as many men as you can to the extraction point. Have your squad buy them time to get out of there."_

" _Belay that, Vodnik."_ Sarah interrupted. _"You and your squad need to get out of there. I can't lose any more Pilots."_

"The Grunts aren't just an expendable asset you can throw away, Sarah!" Vlad replied, seeing marker on his HUD pop up for the extraction zone.

" _Don't toss your morality at me, Vlad. Grunts are just soldiers that can be replaced; you know that."_ She retorted. _"Pilots aren't assets the Militia can afford to lose. You're easily worth a hundred Grunts."_

"This isn't the time for ruthless calculus, Commander." Vodnik angrily sputtered. "I left the IMC because they threw away lives like cannon-fodder. I'm getting as many men out as I can, Sarah. Discipline me all you want back on the ship!"

A moment of silence, on the other end of the line.

" _We're having a talk about the chain-of-command when you get back, Captain."_ Sarah muttered angrily before she cut the line.

Vodnik sighed before he ordered the Militia to retreat to the evacuation point.

" _I'm sending down as may shuttles as I can, Vodnik."_ Bish informed him. _"ETA two minutes. Macallan; you'd better be on one those transports with the information you promised us, or Sarah's gonna be pissed."_

" _Don't worry, Bish, I plan to be."_ Macallan chuckled despite their difficult situation.

"Spectre, Golsan, lay explosive charges at the _Odyssey's_ fuel tanks. Cover our escape."

" _Roger that, sir."_ Spectre replied.

"Everyone else, fall back to the evac zone! Get ready for a hot-extraction!"

 **VIIIIIV**

Jake dashed out of cover, bolting for a piece of metal that stuck out of the floor of the _Odyssey's_ hangar that would act as sufficient cover, drawing the blasts of many Grunts to aim at him. Jake noticed that the Militia forces were falling back; running out of the Odyssey through a sizeable gap that could easily accommodate a Titan. He had just reached the cover when he received an alert that the _Argonaut_ was ready to send down Spades.

Jake thanked whatever higher-being there was as he signalled for his Atlas, waiting for it to fall from the sky like a meteorite. It crashed through the ceiling of the hangar and slammed into the ground, bending and warping the metal floor beneath it. He didn't waste any time in clambering into the machine's cockpit, closing the hatch and sealing himself inside – safe from the small arms fire of the Militia Grunts.

" _Welcome back, Lincoln. I kept the seat warm for you."_ Spades joked as Jake engaged the Vortex Shield, redirecting any caught ammunition back to wherever it had come from. Ace exhaled as he caught his breath, thankful for the Titan's wry sense of humour.

"Spades, I need you to record a message for me. Have it sent to David's private inbox in exactly four hours. Got that?"

" _Of course, Pilot. Please document your message now."_ Spades announced. Jake blew out a long breath, wondering how he was going to say this.

After he finished recording the message; Ace looked over to David, who had followed Lincoln's example and had called down his own Titan. Turner was just climbing into his Ogre. Jake stood next to him, using his Vortex Shield to cover his mentor as he embarked the mech. Moments later, David began firing at the retreating Militia, downing at least a dozen before the ground around them seemed to shake.

" _Warning, seismic activity detected. The Odyssey is falling apart; this unit recommends you get to cover."_ Spades warned his Pilot.

Jake didn't waste any time in directing the Atlas to rush forward towards the hole in the wall that he had spotted earlier. David followed him closely, and they erupted out the other side of the wall and into the harsh daylight. Jake stopped and turned his Titan to watch the _Odyssey_ slowly crumble to ruin. The already decrepit ship slowly fell apart into a pile of scrap, barely distinguishable from a junkyard.

Further chaos was caused by several large explosions going off near the _Odyssey's_ fuel supply, perhaps only a dozen metres from where the Atlas and Ogre were standing. Jake squinted his eyes a little to defend against the bright hues of orange and white. The boom reverberated around the pair of IMC Titans, and Jake could already feel a small ringing in his ears. The shockwave ripped through his Titan, and Jake struggled with the controls to keep the chassis upright. The shields took the brunt of the explosion, and Lincoln turned to see David's Ogre in the same rough condition he was in.

The silence that followed the detonations seemed to drown out the even previous deafening boom and rumbling of the explosion. Pieces of the _Odyssey's_ hull were scattered in all directions, jutting out of the ground like malevolent shards of glass.

After a few long moments of waiting for the ringing in his ears to stop, and when the dust had finally settled, Jake looked around at his surroundings, scanning for a sign of other IMC of Militia forces. But all he saw was more devastation.

Large black scorch marks decorated the ground, and the scattered bodies of fallen IMC and Militia soldiers were dotted around the wreckage. The way they had emerged from was completely blocked off. They wouldn't be able to return easily, but that was fine with Jake, he didn't plan to go back to the IMC forces anyway. He knew it would take a little while for the IMC to reorganise and make their way through the scrap.

His eyes scanned his surroundings for any sign of life, but nothing stirred. Even the wind seemed motionless. The scattered pieces of the dead were strewn around with the rubble and the scorch marks from the detonation.

Then he saw it, two Pilots outfitted in Militia garb running away from the pair of IMC Titans. Perhaps they were the ones responsible for the detonations? Assuming the explosions hadn't been a side-effect of the _Odyssey_ crumbling around them, they had to be retreating back to their extraction point for evacuation with the rest of their squad.

Jake knew in that moment that this would be his best chance to go with them, but David wouldn't just let him leave...

"Spades, execute protocol forty-two." Jake ordered, knowing exactly what he needed to do.

" _Authorised. Transferring Operating System to removable hard-drive, stand-by."_ Spades announced, a small chip popping out of one of the ports in the console. Jake took the chip from the port, looking at it for a moment. This memory device held Spades' entire Operating System inside of it, copied directly from his internal system drives. Spades had basically cloned himself onto the chip. Jake slid the device into his breast pocket and zipped it up to make sure the chip was secure.

" _Transferring full control of chassis to Pilot."_ Spades continued. " _Is there anything else I can help you with, Pilot?"_

Lincoln thought for a moment before nodding. "Activate the 'clean slate' program."

" _This will wipe my Operating System from the IMC collective hard-drive, are you sure you wish to continue?"_

"Very." Jake clarified, knowing he still had a complete copy of Spades in the chip.

" _Very well, Pilot. It has been a pleasure."_ Spades told him before his Operating System wiped itself away.

Jake was alone now, except for David who stood next to him. The Ogre still recovering from their hasty escape from the crumbling _Odyssey_ and subsequent explosions.

"I'm sorry, David." Jake said to himself before he raised his Titans fist and struck David's Ogre in the back of the leg, making the larger Titan collapse, just as it was getting to its feet.

" _Jake, what the hell are you doing?!"_ Turner's voice cut in to his ear-piece as Jake raised his Atlas' fist again and tore away the plating to expose the core operation systems within David's Titan.

Jake didn't reply, only gritting his teeth as he shoved a hand inside the core, pulling out a handful of wires and other important nodes with it, rendering David's Titan immobile and paralysed. He kept clawing away, and eventually found what he was looking for; the manual disembark control. Jake input a quick command into his console to open his hatch, and he opened fire on the Ogre's innards, targeting the disembark control.

He didn't want to hurt David, and this damage to the Ogre was only superficial – parts that could easily be replaced once David had been recovered by his fellow IMC.

" _Jake! Stop! What the fuck is wrong with you?!"_

Jake blocked communications as he finished sabotaging David's Titan, quickly apologising and saying a prayer for his friend, hoping that Turner would find it in him to forgive Lincoln. Jake put in a few more commands into his Titan and re-sealed his hatch, taking off to follow the escaping Pilots. Jake cast a look back to Turner's Ogre, and could almost feel his angry stare as he ran after the evacuating Militia.

After a few tense moments of searching, he could make out the shape of the two Pilots about to board a dropship. He kept running for them, but the pilot of the shuttle must have seen him approaching, because the ship suddenly sped up its take-off manoeuvres as it slowly rose off the ground, only barely waiting for the two escaping Militia Pilots to board.

"Wait!" Jake shouted, knowing the Militia wouldn't be able to hear his cries.

It would be gone within seconds, and Jake would never reach it in time if he continued to run at the ship. The shuttle would be long gone by the time Jake reached it.

Only a hundred metres away - so close, yet so far.

Suddenly, Lincoln had a crazy idea. He'd heard of Pilots doing it before, but he couldn't be sure if it would work for him. Quickly inputting a few values like his weight and the distance to his target, Jake clambered out of his Titan as fast as possible, hopping into his Titan's outstretched palm, drawing in a deep breath.

Now or never.

The Atlas gripped Jake's body, drawing its arm back as far as it could go. Lincoln readied himself, and suddenly wondered if he'd just signed his own death warrant by ordering his Titan to do this. But he supposed he'd done that when he betrayed his friend only minutes ago.

The Atlas launched Jake forward, and Lincoln shot towards the departing shuttle like a rocket. Luckily for him, the hatch was still open and Jake landed rather ungracefully inside the Militia dropship. Within moments, every Pilot had a weapon aimed squarely at Jake's head, and Lincoln raised his arms in submission.

" _Don't shoot!_ I surrender!" He spat out, removing his helmet and casting it aside so the Militia could tell he wasn't a threat. The hatch of the shuttle closed, and the ship sped away towards the atmosphere.

No one spoke for a long while, every weapon in the ship firmly trained on Jake. Eventually, one of the Militia Pilots lowered his gun and removed his own helmet, revealing piercing blue eyes and close-cropped brown hair that was showing the first signs of grey. A rough beard covered his sharp jaw, his eyes sunken and he had various scars over his face, though none of them caused him to look intimidating or ugly. When he spoke, his voice was rough, like sandpaper, and he pronounced his words with a barely concealed Russian accent.

"Who the hell are you?"

His eyes scanned Jake's face intently, as if looking for any suspicious movements or nervous twitches that would give him an excuse to kill Lincoln.

"Someone who doesn't want the IMC to win." Jake replied.

The man smiled in thinly-veiled amusement, then clicked his tongue. Another Pilot stepped forward and hit Jake's temple with the butt of his rifle, knocking him out instantly. Lincoln's last thought before the blow connected was one of guilt, partially for abandoning the IMC, but mostly for betraying David.

He was also relieved that the M-COR hadn't shot him on sight, which was nice too.

 **VIIIIIV**

Hours later, after the Militia had escaped and the IMC had recovered David from the other side of the wreckage, Turner sat alone in a more private area of the _IMS Argonaut_ , thinking to himself about how he hadn't seen it coming. Jake was rash and naive, but David knew he wasn't an idiot. He was left wondering why his trainee, his friend, had abandoned him – no, _betrayed_ him. He was so concentrated on thinking about the treachery that he flinched when Hannah, his Titan OS, alerted him with a message.

An e-mail, sent to his personal inbox. It contained an audio file, from Jake. David was tempted to delete it immediately, but something stopped him. Anger flared up inside of him, but he held off his contempt and opened the attached file, letting the message play to him.

" _Hello, David. By the time you're hearing this, I'll either be gone, or dead. If I did escape, then I'm sorry, but I can't stay with the IMC anymore. I didn't want to leave you, or Jackie, but I didn't see any other way."_ Jake's recorded voice blew out a shaky breath, like it was difficult to put into words how sorry he was. David didn't care, but he didn't pause the recording either. He wanted to hear it. He had to.

" _Please understand, I never wanted to put you in this position, but I couldn't lie to myself anymore. What Blisk did to those villagers is unforgivable, and I can't just let it go. Label it whatever you want, but I call it 'murder'. And you know that I can't just stand by and condone the very action I would condemn. They'll call me a traitor, and a terrorist, or worse. Shit, you can hate me for the rest of your life, if you want, but I just wanted you to understand. Tell Roe goodbye for me, would you? And, hey, if my plan went wrong and I am dead, then I guess it doesn't matter."_ Jake's audio log chuckled a little, but his mirth quickly died. _"Goodbye, David. I'm sorry."_

The message ended.

David was left alone with his thoughts again. He replayed the message another six times before all of his suppressed again unleashed itself and he stood up, turned to the nearest wall and punched it so hard that it dented to metal slightly to the shape of his knuckles. He hand audibly cracked, and Turner had no doubt that he'd probably broken his hand, but he didn't give a shit. He punched the wall over and over again, teeth bared, nostrils flaring and angry tears running down his face. He screamed, his fury venting as he yelled at the top of his lungs.

After he had calmed down and he had reported the damage to the wall to a crew member, David went to the med-bay to get his hand treated. He told the nurse who wrapped a bandage around his hand that he'd gotten into a fist-fight with a Militia Pilot because it was easier than admitting the truth.

All he could think about was how truly disappointed he was. In himself, partly, but most of all in Jake.

 **VIIIIIV**

 **Author's Notes:**

 **Thais was a difficult chapter to write, which is why it took so long to update. I re-wrote it at least twice because I couldn't quite put Jake's desertion the way I wanted, but I'm happy with how it turned out. Sorry for the delay, I promise I'll be better next chapter!**

 **Onto the replies!**

 **Torheit:**

Living the story! Banners of Hatred brought me here. Once I was caught up on that story I was reading through some of the other fanfictions, when I read the description to this one and wondered, "is that the same Ace?" Alas it was, and I'm loving his character even more now! You have a beautifully written story. Keep up the good work! Also, how closely are you working with Razzack in this? Having two different characters written by two different people with each character heading in their own direction and keeping everything straight with another author is pretty tough, I'd imagine. I'm curious, how do you do it?

 **Thanks so much! I'm glad you like the story so much. Razzack and I are actually good friends in real life, and we've had numerous hour-long chats about which direction we want the story to go in. We have the basic plot planned out (if you can call it that), but we're always coming up with new ideas to add in all the time. I'm having a great time writing my story parallel to his.**

 **Mac Gustah:**

You should know I have mad respect for what you're doing with this story. Not only is it engaging and well written, but the fact that you are working so closely with another author to create a story from both sides of the conflict shows that the both of you are incredibly dedicated. This was an awesome chapter! I can barely wait for the next one Then again, I still have a chapter of Banners of Hatred to look forward to.

Keep up the amazing work, and that goes for both of you

Cheers,  
Mac Gustah

 **Thank you for such high praise, I almost feel like I don't deserve it. Seriously though, thank you. Your support means a lot to me. And like I said in my reply to Torheit, it doesn't really feel like work when it's fun to write. Having Razzack on this journey with me has made it a hundred times better, and I've come a long way as a writer thanks to his guidance.**

 **Thanks for reading, everyone. See you on the Frontier.**


	8. Chapter VII - Hostile Negotiations

The Brotherhood of Battle

Chapter VIII – Hostile Negotiations

Jake came to with a loud ringing in his ears. He felt dizzy and disoriented as he opened his eyes to look around at his scenery. Lincoln's movements were groggy, as if he'd just woken up from a long nap, and Jake found it difficult to focus his vision on any one particular thing, but he attempted to shake off his fatigue as he tried to make out his surroundings.

It was dark. Very dark.

The only source of light was a very bright bulb shining directly on him from a high ceiling. The room was small, only slightly bigger than a standard prison cell. Plain white walls surrounded Jake on all sides, a black metal door being the only thing to break the monotony of the room.

As Jake stirred from his unsteady state, he attempted to stand, only to be held in place by restraints digging into his hands behind his back while he sat on a metal chair. The position was moderately uncomfortable, but he doubted the Militia were going to make life easy on him – not until he'd proven they could trust him.

Lincoln squinted as he tried to make out the details of his new surrounding, blinded by the bright light hanging above him, he could hardly see the room around him. He pulled against his restraints, but his efforts ended in futility and only served to cut into his wrists. He seethed as he felt a rivulet of his blood snake down his hand and drip onto the floor. The manacles were far too tight to grant him any wiggle room. Not that he wanted to free himself; Jake just wanted to be a bit more comfortable.

He still wore his IMC Pilot armour, but his helmet had been removed, as well as his B3 Wingman, both taken who-knows-where. He wondered if Spades' chip was still safely tucked inside his breast pocket, but Jake knew he wouldn't be able to reach it in his current position, hands shackled behind his back. Even if Lincoln could get it out, the chip wouldn't be of any use to him anyway without a Titan chassis.

Suddenly, the door in the corner of the room was pulled open, and three figures entered the room. They didn't speak; instead they watched Jake, gauging his response to their entrance. Lincoln didn't say a word, but flicked his gaze between the three figures frequently, wondering who they were.

"IMC piece-of-shit." Jake heard one of them mutter; deep and masculine.

"State your name, rank and intention." A different voice asked, female. Jake blinked before realising she was talking to him. He opened his mouth to speak.

"Jake Lincoln, Pilot First Rank..." He paused, searching for the right word, then smiled "... _fun?_ "

"I like him already." The third figure sniggered, a deep Russian accent dripping through his chortles.

The female figure who had addressed Jake stepped forward from the shadows into the light. Sarah Briggs, one of the Militia's leading figures. A very high-priority target for the IMC. She stood before him, a pistol dangling from her waist.

"One of my Pilot's tells me that you boarded our dropship before it could take off, is that correct?" She asked him, the rhetorical manner of the remark not lost on Jake.

Jake nodded.

"He also tells me that, instead of trying to stop his Squad's escape, you surrendered."

He nodded again.

"Why?" She asked.

Jake was silent. It was a simple question, but it was more difficult to answer.

"They've killed people." Jake started, trying to begin a sentence that would explain sufficiently why he wanted to defect.

"The IMC has killed a lot of people, so have we. So what? That's war." Sarah pointed out.

"Let me rephrase; they've _murdered_ people. Innocents, back at that village on the colony? It was a massacre, and they didn't even bat an eye. I don't want to become that."

"Become what?"

"A monster." He responded. "Someone who stands by and watches the wrath of evil men unfold onto those who don't deserve it."

"You sound less like a Pilot, and more like a philosopher." Sarah told him, a mark of disdain clear in her voice. "One of my chief engineers doesn't think you're worth keeping around. Actually, he doesn't even think you'd be worth the bullet that would go between your eyes." She gestured to the figure that had cussed at Jake. "He recommends that we should extract information from you, and then dump your body out of the airlock."

Jake swallowed, trying not to let this woman intimidate him.

"Whereas Vodnik over there," she thumbed at the other figure, a Pilot, "Well, he thinks that you've got guts, and if what he thinks about you is true, then you _might_ get to live."

"And what is it that he thinks about me?" Jake asked, trying to prompt her to answer.

"He says you're a deserter. A traitor to the IMC, and your squad. He thinks you've got big ideas of joining the Militia. Ringing any bells?"

"Sarah-" The Militia Pilot tried to cut in, she just raised a silencing finger at him.

"I am a deserter, yes, that's true." Jake admitted, bowing his head in shame. "I _defected_. Betrayed my mentor, and cut all ties to the IMC. I guess you could call me a traitor, that's one way to put it."

"It's the only way I can think of putting it." Sarah interrupted, her tone cold and condescending. "Why? Can you think of another name that means 'someone who stabbed their allies in the back'?"

"Someone who woke up." Jake told her firmly, raising his head again and staring at her, dead in the eye. She almost stepped back. "Someone who opened their eyes and realised that the pedestal the IMC put themselves upon is built on the bodies of those they trampled over to reach the top. They've burned and murdered and snuffed out anyone who tried to stand up to them."

Sarah didn't break her gaze with the chained Pilot.

"I don't want that to be my role to play in the grand scheme of things. I _refuse_ to be the puppet of some malevolent entity that wants to conquer and dominate the freedom of ordinary, innocent people." Jake finished. "I want redemption."

Sarah stared at him for a very long time. A full minute of silence crawled by the four men and women in the room. Eventually, the Russian Pilot behind her cleared his throat.

"Sarah, a moment?" Vodnik asked politely. She nodded and the pair left the room, leaving Jake alone with the mysterious figure that didn't seem to like him very much. He'd been the one who'd spoken ill of him when the trio had first entered the room.

Jake watched him silently as the figure paced to and fro. They didn't exchange any words, but Jake could practically feel the figure's fiery stare burning into him. If looks could kill, Lincoln would probably be a pile of ash right about now. Jake offered a small smile to him.

"So..." Jake sniffed, "what colour's your toothbrush?"

The man stopped pacing, caught off-guard by the question.

"What?" He replied.

"The colour? Of your toothbrush?"

"Shut up." The man growled.

"Christ, I'm just trying to make conversation, mate." Jake replied, exasperated.

 **VIIIIIV**

"What's this about, Vlad?" Sarah demanded, rounding on him as soon as he shut the door to the interrogation room.

"I don't think we should kill him." He told her. Sarah pulled a face.

"Who said I was going to kill him?" She replied.

" _Please_." Vodnik scoffed. "I know that look. It's written all over your face. You're going to get whatever information you can out of him, and then eject him into space."

"So? It's one less IMC Pilot to worry about."

"But he's not IMC. Not anymore."

"How are you so sure?"

Vodnik shrugged.

"He took a big risk just getting onto the transport, probably had to fight or subdue other IMC personnel. I think he's got a legitimate reason to leave, don't you?"

Now it was Sarah's turn to scoff.

"An IMC Pilot just _magically_ grows a conscience because of a few murdered civilians? When was the last time that happened?" Sarah addressed him with a harsh tone.

Vodnik swallowed a lump in his throat, and Sarah's face softened immediately.

"Vlad, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"The point is," Vodnik cut her off before she could say more, "I was IMC as well. I defected, and you trust me."

"But you're different."

"How?"

She sighed, shrugging. "You just _are_. You had a reason to defect. As far as I can tell, he doesn't. Seriously, how often does an IMC – a _Pilot_ at that – suddenly realise he's batting for the wrong side?"

"What's that old Earth saying? "Never look a gift horse in the mouth?" _"_ Vlad asked her, deflecting her supposition. "Besides, with recent losses, we need every man we can get."

"They know that! The IMC!" She almost shouted. "What if they just sent him to spy on us? Evaluate our resources and tear us apart from the inside?"

"It's a risk we're going to have to take." He spoke at a calm and measured volume. "Listen, put him on my Squad. You find something to give me some leverage on him, and then if he betrays us; I'll kill him myself. How's that sound?"

Sarah pondered it for a while, weighing up her options.

"Fine." She caved. Vodnik smiled. "But what are we going to use as influence to keep him in line?"

"What makes a Pilot a Pilot?" Vodnik smirked.

"What?" She asked, confused.

"What separates a Pilot from every other unit on the battlefield?" He asked.

Sarah shrugged.

"A Titan."

She scoffed. "How the fuck could he smuggle a _Titan_ onto the ship?"

"He couldn't, but I'll bet you _anything_ that he at least kept the Operating System. I wouldn't leave Leonidas behind if I were the one switching sides."

 **VIIIIV**

After a little while, Vodnik and Sarah came back into the room. She sighed and gestured for Vodnik to proceed. The Pilot promptly walked up to Jake, crouched down in front of him and looked him dead in the eyes.

"You're here to fight for us?" Vlad asked.

"Yes." Jake nodded.

"You want to redeem yourself, get back at the IMC for what they did to those innocent people?"

"Just point me at a target." Jake reaffirmed him.

"Then welcome to Bandit Squad." Vodnik told him, moving to go behind Jake's chair, unlocking the handcuffs that held him in place. "The name's Vladimir Zuyev. Or 'Vodnik', whichever is fine with me. Sarah doesn't trust you yet. You're ex-IMC, so you're not Militia in her eyes."

"But I am in yours?" Jake asked, rubbing his wrists as he was set free from his cuffs. Vodnik stood back up, nodding.

"Anyone who wants to stand up against the IMC is Militia in my book. If we're going to pull off what we've got planned, we're going to need every able body we can get."

Jake stood, stretching and cracking his bones to wear out the aching in his body.

"And what is it you're planning?"

Vodnik shared a look with Sarah.

"That is... _classified_. We don't know you, and for the moment, we do not trust you either. I am sure you understand?" The Pilot almost apologised.

"I get it. Compartmentalisation, and all that." Jake shrugged, then smiled. "I mean, I could be a spy for all you know, right? That's what you're worried about." He addressed that question to Sarah, who said nothing.

"You're saying you aren't?" Vodnik asked for her.

"I want to be here, sir." Jake replied, a stern truth to his words.

"Then you won't mind handing over your Operating System, if that is the case." Vodnik told him, holding out a palm.

"What?" Jake looked at him in shock.

"Your A.I. chip." Vlad dropped his voice to a whisper, so Sarah couldn't hear their conversation. "You want her to trust you? This is the first step." Vodnik assured him, under his breath.

Jake stared at his open palm for while, debating whether or not to hand him Spades, his only link left to his old life.

"I'll get it back?" He asked without looking at the other Pilot.

"We'll see." Vodnik told him.

Jake unzipped his breast pocket and dug inside to extract the A.I. chip, taking it out, he handed it over to the older Pilot with a nervous exhalation.

"Take care of him, yeah?" Lincoln asked.

"Of course. Now, come with me." Vlad instructed him, unlocking the door and guiding him through corridors and hallways.

Jake noticed that the environment wasn't unlike the _Argonaut_. Hallways that connected to dozens of doors, making Jake wonder where they lead. The structure was also very similar to the layout of the Argonaut, but somehow seemed smaller, as if the ship had been squashed down to fit into a smaller version of itself. The walls were grimy and rusted, and seemed weathered and aged.

"What is this place?" Jake asked.

"I'm surprised you haven't figured it out yet. Can't you tell? We scavenged it off some old friends of yours." Vodnik told him without looking back.

"This ship belongs to the IMC?" Jake asked, almost in disbelief.

" _Belonged._ " Vodnik corrected. "Like I said, they didn't need it anymore, so we took it off their hands."

"You mean you stole it?"

"Oh, 'stole' is such a... harsh word." Vodnik replied. Jake could practically hear the smile on his face. "I much prefer the term 'liberated'."

"Right." Jake said.

"Don't worry, we didn't hurt anyone really. She was just sitting there, tethered to a low-orbit refuelling station a few years back. Occupied by a skeleton crew of engineers and scientists. It was a pretty simple swindle, really."

"Yeah, I've seen what you do to scientists." Jake muttered, thinking back to the outpost where he'd found the bodies of countless scientists and unarmed soldiers when he'd been a part of Goblin Squad.

"You're referring to some of our more... questionable operations, no?" Vodnik asked.

"You've done them?" Jake replied.

"I know about them, but my squad's never actually performed one. Big difference. I never carry out such morbid operations; it's a rule of mine. I have no intention of harming innocents, if I can help it. Even if they _are_ affiliated to the IMC." Vodnik assured Lincoln. "In fact, Sarah usually hires mercenary groups to deal with the more questionable missions. Their morality is persuaded by credits, you see."

Jake nodded, but said nothing.

"So what's she called?" Jake asked.

"Oh, the ship?" Vlad chuckled. "Well, when she was IMC, she was some boring serial of numbers and letters. We changed that, seeing as she's fighting for us now." Vodnik turned to him, grinning like a madman.

"Her name isthe _MCS Sparrow_." Vodnik humbly told him, clearly proud of the ship he served on. "She's not the strongest, but she packs a decent punch. And she's fast, _very fast_."

Jake smirked, for all the wear and tear; she wasn't a half bad ship. The pride that Vlad obviously held for the vessel was evident in his expression, and Jake knew just from that, if nothing else, Vlad was a loyal man. Loyal to this ship, loyal to his Squad and loyal to the Militia. Vodnik turned, smiling. He looked at Jake's battered and scarred armour, his eyes roaming over it. He huffed.

"You'll need a change of armour. Having a Pilot on board sporting IMC colours won't fly well with the crew. Come on; let's get you to the armoury." Vodnik instructed him, guiding him further into the depths of the spacecraft.

 **VIIIIIV**

"There you are." The quarter-master announced to the pair of Pilots. "It's all second-hand, I'm afraid, but it'll protect you from bullets long enough for you to make a difference."

A helmet; scratched and scarred like the rest of the impact-resistant armour it accompanied. Standard-issue Militia Pilot armour. Worn-in, and stinking of sweat, Jake inspected it with a keen eye. He'd already stripped from his IMC issued armour, trading it in for the Militia version. In his mind, it felt like a down-grade, but Jake was proud to sport the colours of the M-COR, ready to fight for a better Frontier.

"What's that?" Vodnik asked Jake, gesturing to the playing-card strapped by tape onto his new shoulder-guard.

"A memory." Jake confessed, deliberately vague.

Vlad raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"And the source of my callsign. Kind of." Jake smiled, remembering the card game that he had played with David and Miller early in his Pilot training.

"Do tell." Vodnik asked, prompting him to answer.

"Ace." Jake chuckled. "Goes along pretty well with my Titan OS. He's called Spades."

"Ace of Spades?" Vodnik nodded.

"You like it?" Jake asked.

" _Da_." He replied in Russian. "It has a nice ring to it. Come, there are a few people I would like for you to meet." Vodnik instructed, urging Jake to follow him.

Lincoln complied, holding his apparel in one arm, and his helmet under the crook of his other.

"You're Russian, right? I couldn't quite pin down your accent." Jake enquired, trying to make conversation.

"Not quite. I am not from _Rodina_ – the Motherland. I come from a colony on the Outer Rim that is occupied by many of my people." He laughed, clearly happy to talk about his birthplace. "And you, _Ace_ , where are you from?"

Jake smiled at Vlad's rough pronunciation of his callsign, and shook his head in amusement.

"I come from Earth." Jake replied.

"Ah, yes!" Vlad hollered. "The crown jewel! If I had known, I would've kissed your hand."

Jake laughed at the man's comedy. "A country called Great Britain. England, in particular. Ladies love the accent."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, we've been carefully bred to have it so that people think they can trust us. We're really quite charming, you know."

"I can tell. Perhaps you would like some tea and crumpets when we reach the galley?" Vodnik mocked.

Jake just smiled. By now, they had arrived at a door, slightly more out of the way, but Jake could guess why. If his experience with Hazard had taught him anything, as well as the similar layouts between the _Argonaut_ and the _Sparrow_ were anything to go by, then this was probably the barracks where the other members of Bandit Squad would be.

His new home.

Vodnik waved his hand over a motion-sensor, and the door slid up into the wall, revealing the room within. Similarly to Hazards bunk, this one was cluttered with various objects and memorabilia that all evidently pointed to the assumption that this was where highly-trained killing machines came to sleep and socialise. For now, though, the room was empty, Jake and Vlad being the only occupants.

It wasn't as well kept as the IMC version; disassembled guns were strewn across the floor. Pistols and rifles pieced apart, receivers, bullet casings and attachments were placed around the room in various stages of disassemble or reassemble. The IMC barracks where Jake had stayed had a very uniform ambience. Everything had had its place in the room, objects were neat and well-kept.

Whereas Bandit's barracks looked like someone had detonated a _grenade_ in it, and hadn't bothered to clean up the mess.

Beds were pushed to the edges of the room; chalk sketching and blueprints were etched onto the floor. The walls were decorated with posters of half-naked women, as well as banners of the Militia on flags that hung from the ceiling – a mean-looking skull with glowing orange eyes and an eye-patch over one of its cavities.

Spray-painted murals were also plastered onto the wall above each bed. One of them was a slogan in Russian, with a silhouette of a woman and a child underneath against a plain white background. Another was of a skull, half covered by a gas mask. Yet another was a shattered beer bottle. The murals seemed to range from the frankly ridiculous to the haunting and macabre.

Jake pointed at the spray-paint wall paintings, drawing Vodnik's attention to the one with a Russian phrase on it.

"What are all of these?" He asked. Vodnik exhaled and bowed his head.

"They are testaments to the legacy of every Pilot in Bandit." He pointed at a few. "You'll be able to create yours when you earn your place here."

"Which one's yours?"

Vodnik nodded towards the mural with the Russian phrase on it, with the silhouettes beneath it.

"It means; 'for the fallen'." Vlad translated. "The shadows are my wife and child, stolen from me by the inaction of the IMC." He sighed sadly. "I was one of the IMC's better Pilots before an operation gone wrong killed my wife Maria and fourteen-year-old daughter Sacha. She would have been twenty this year."

"Oh, wow." Jake felt guilty somehow for the deaths of his loved ones. "I'm so sorry."

"It is not your fault, _druzhishche_. Besides, enough people who were not responsible have apologised. I intend to make the ones who were to blame pay." Vodnik replied in a stern tone.

"What about the others? What do they mean?" Jake enquired. He was curious, but also wanted to change the subject and not risk upsetting the Russian.

"They are all individual pieces. You would have to ask the 'artists' who created them." Vodnik laughed; clearly the word artist was one he didn't often attribute to his men. "Speaking of, I think it is high time you met your fellow comrades, you'll be fighting with them soon enough."

Jake nodded as the man led him out of the room, only pausing briefly to allow Jake to put his armour down on his bed, telling Lincoln that he could sort it out later.

 **VIIIIIV**

"I don't like it, Bish." Sarah told the technician in a stern voice.

The hacker just sighed, he'd learned to just let the woman vent for a little while. She always calmed down in the end.

"You never do." He replied, tapping away at his keyboard.

"I mean, how often does an IMC Pilot just _desert_?" She asked him, pacing furiously from each side of the small room to the other.

"Not as often as I'd like." Bish said, never taking his eyes away from his screen.

Sarah paused, looking at him. "What?"

Bish looked up from his computer, caught like a rabbit in the headlights.

"I mean, they've got training, equipment, advanced Titan Operating Systems when they're part of the IMC. Anytime they desert and join us, we get all of those things onto our side." Bish hastily explained. He knew his argument made no sense, but it was all he could think to say in that moment.

"But what if it's all a ruse?" Sarah just returned to pacing the room.

"Vlad seems to know what he's doing." Bish tried to reassure her.

"It's not Zuyev I'm worried about."

"You're sure about that, are you?"

She ignored him.

"I trust Vlad with my life, Bish, but I don't know if it was the right thing to do to let that IMC Pilot onto his squad."

"Only time will tell, Sarah." Bish replied, then chuckled. "It's not like Jake would be the most _outlandish_ Pilot that Vodnik has on his squad."

 **VIIIIIV**

Together, Jake and Vlad made their way to the mess hall, which, like everything else, was practically a carbon-copy of the _Argonaut's_ , albeit on a smaller scale. Now that Lincoln was in his Militia fatigues, the Grunts and other crew-members couldn't tell he'd been a part of the IMC, and Jake was relieved that he wasn't getting any shifty stares.

At least, for now.

It almost felt like he belonged here.

The large room was loud, full of men and women who laughed and conversed about whatever they could think of. Wherever he looked, Lincoln could almost always make out a smile or a genuine grin on the faces of these men and women. It certainly felt happier than what he been used to back when he was a part of the IMC.

"It feels like a family." Jake told Vlad as their trays were loaded with mash potato and synthetic meat and artificial gravy. Vodnik smiled warmly.

"It _is_." He replied. "We're all under one banner here. We all fight for tomorrow. There's no paycheck, no reward other than the sweat on your back and the blood on your hands." Vlad explained.

"Christ, mate, you sound like one of those propaganda vids." Jake laughed.

"I suppose I do. But is not propaganda if it is truth, _da?_ " Vodnik said, tapping his nose with a finger, smirking.

By now, their trays had been loaded with food. Vodnik whistled for Jake to follow him, and the Russian lead the younger Pilot to a table at the far end of the mess hall, in the corner, as far into the shadows as it could manage. Four other men sat around the table, all focused on their meals, or on each other. They were quiet, their conversations murmured and hushed. One of them sharpened what looked like a machete with an oil stone. Another was flipping a coin over and over again, and the other two were disassembling and reassembling their sidearms, trying to be faster than the other. Jake instantly knew what they were.

Pilots.

They didn't bother to look at Vodnik as he took a seat, but when Jake approached, they fell silent, stopped what they were doing and stared at him with unblinking eyes, full of fire and contempt. They knew who he was, what he'd been, why he was here. Jake didn't breathe, his limbs paralysed with what felt like a need to walk away from the men.

It was Vodnik who broke the ice.

"Sit down, Jake." He commanded. Lincoln was thankful for his authoritative tone, otherwise he doubted he'd have been able to budge. "Boys, this is Jake Lincoln. Play nice."

Setting his tray down on the table sounded so loud to Jake's ears, the noise from the other crew in the mess hall was drowned out by the sheer nerves and awkwardness he felt in that moment. Jake forced himself to look up from his food to glance at the Pilots one by one.

"Morning, lads. Nice to meet you." He offered.

They continued to stare; watching Jake nervously took a spoonful of mashed potatoes and put them into his mouth. One of the Pilots sighed.

"New recruit, Vodnik?" He asked.

"He's been assigned to us. Be nice." Vlad just shrugged.

Another Pilot who'd been flipping a coin scoffed, crossing his arms.

"What? Sarah ran out of volunteers, so she's recruiting from the damn IMC now?"

The others laughed, except Vodnik and Jake.

"You were not there, Breaker, when he jumped into our shuttle, were you?" Vlad asked sarcastically.

"No, sir." The Pilot's face dropped.

"He gave up everything to join the cause, so watch your mouth." Vodnik pointed his fork at the younger Pilot to get his point across.

"So, he's a traitor?" Another asked, already knowing the answer, no doubt. "Who's to say he won't stab us in the back too?"

"I won't." Lincoln reaffirmed him.

"I've only got your word for that, you IMC scum." The man accused.

"That is enough, Golsan. _Uvolit yego._ " Vodnik hardened his tone, glaring at the man.

Golsan held up his hands in mock surrender, although his attitude to Jake didn't change. His death-stares could melt metal, but he went back to disassembling and reassembling his sidearm. Lincoln looked at the remaining two Pilots, waiting for them to try out their own jabs on him.

"Castillo, anything to say? You are being uncharacteristically quiet." Vodnik prompted.

The man sharpening his knife stopped his flowing movements and put down the oil stone, casting a glance over to Jake with a beady eye. He smiled a toothy grin at Ace and shrugged theatrically.

"Who cares? As long as he knows friend from foe, I don't give a shit." He responded.

"He's IMC." Golsan piped up again. Vodnik shot him a glare. "Sorry, _ex_ -IMC, I don't know if he knows who his allies are, us or them."

"Good point." Castillo laughed, like a crazed hyena enjoying a fresh kill, then he looked squarely at Jake, pointing his machete directly at his face. "Just don't shoot me, and I won't shove my friend here..." he gestured to the knife, "... _down your throat._ "

"That is _enough_! All of you." Vodnik stood, pointing at every single member of his Squad. "Be quiet, or I will make you. And that will _not_ be pretty."

The Pilots all shuffled awkwardly, they'd pushed too far. Jake didn't mind. Their scepticism was understandable, and he hadn't expected every Pilot to accept him as well as Vodnik had.

"Need I remind you that I was IMC?" Vodnik asked them, though none replied. "I know some of you have history with them as well that you're not exactly proud of..." Vodnik glared at Golsan and Breaker in particular, "...but we should not deny him an opportunity. He is on the team, whether you like it or not."

A moment of silence went by before Golsan and Breaker stood.

"I still don't think it's a good idea, sir, but it's your funeral." Breaker informed Vodnik before approaching Jake and offering him his hand.

"Noted." Vodnik said as he sat back down and went back to eating.

"I'm John." Breaker told Jake as the ex-IMC Pilot took his hand and shook it. Golsan just scoffed and walked away.

"Pleasure. No hard feelings, right?" Jake replied sheepishly with an awkward grin on his face.

" _Right_." John told him sarcastically before releasing his grip and walking away.

Castillo stood next and approached Jake. He didn't offer a hand or any other kind of welcoming gesture, but nodded to him.

"The name's Alan. Alan Castillo. Call me _Scope_ , if you want. I'm the team's resident sniper." He explained, then he took out his machete. "This is Rosita, be nice to her, she _bites_."

As if to illustrate his point, he ran a finger along the edge of the blade, taking it away and showed Jake the bloody cut that it left there. Jake recoiled slightly and Alan laughed as he sucked on his finger to clean the blood off of it and walked away, leaving Jake behind with Vlad and another Pilot that hadn't spoken yet.

"Fair warning; Castillo's about _this far_ from being classed as criminally insane, but he's a damn good shot." The last Pilot told Jake, drawing his attention. He popped a cigarette in his mouth and lit it as he stood and walked up to Jake.

"Desmond Lockett." He held out a hand, waiting for Jake to shake it. Lincoln did so; noticing that the man had a strong grip. "' _Spectre'_ in the field, if you don't mind."

"You're not an IMC hater?" Jake asked. "Every else seems to want to kill me in my sleep."

"Only until you earn their trust." Desmond explained. "Don't worry, you'll get there."

"I appreciate the hint." Jake smiled. Desmond reciprocated with a nod.

"I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt though. For now, at least."

Vodnik put down his fork, looking at Desmond. "Spectre, would you mind being Jake's liaison for a few days? I have things to do, and I think the others would _khvostovik_ him the first chance they get if I am not there to talk them down."

Spectre thought about for a moment, but eventually nodded. "Sure thing. You've already shown him where he'll be sleeping?"

Vodnik nodded, then pointed to his meal. "I am going to eat, then rest for a while. I will have to write up my report before the day is out too. Would you mind giving Lincoln the rest of the tour?"

Desmond nodded. "I don't see any harm in it."

Jake smiled; happy that one other member of Bandit besides Vlad didn't hate him from the get-go. Ace stood up, having finished his meal, ready to follow Desmond wherever he lead him.

" _Udachi_!" Vodnik shouted to them, laughing, as the duo walked away.

 **VIIIIIV**

The _Sparrow_ wasn't a very large ship, in relation to the size Jake had gotten accustomed to when serving on the _Argonaut_. It took about an hour to see everything he was allowed to. The armoury, bridge, engine room – a lot of it was pretty standard stuff, though it all held the similar rusted and worn-in decor that ran through the entire ship as the common theme.

Last of all, Jake was taken to see the Titan Drop Bay, where a Pilot's Titan would be held by magnetic locks to a roof-rack and dropped onto a combat zone. However, in times like these, when the ship was simply travelling and wasn't in a combat-ready state, the Drop Bay was a bustle of activity and commotion.

As Jake and Desmond walked in, the ex-IMC Pilot smiled at the sight before him. Technicians ran to and fro between several offline Titan chassis' and computer terminals, taking pieces of scrap, and welding them to the war-machines in attempts to repair them or further develop armour plating. Automated drones shuffled between workstations with distinctly robotic movements. Slim framework and slow and calculated footsteps, painted a bright orange colour with smiley faces spray-painted onto the monitors on their heads.

"What's with the automated assistance?" Jake asked, gazing at the machines that carried supplies between workstations.

"The Marvins? Most of them are salvaged or repurposed labour from backwater IMC facilities."

"What do you use them for?" Jake asked, eyeing one in particular that dragged a crate from one end of the Drop Bay to the other, completely by itself.

"Manufacturing, mostly. They're replaceable labourers. We use them so we don't have to waste manpower doing menial tasks." Desmond shot Jake a look. "Did the IMC not use them?"

Jake shrugged.

"Not really. They reprogrammed Spectres for that kind of thing, if it needed doing." Jake explained as he wandered past the Titan chassis'. The bustle of work going on around him was constant and Jake had to raise his voice to be heard over the sound of machinery and apparatus clanging together.

"I suppose the IMC had disposable labour anyway, right? Volunteers from the core systems, things like that. Don't even need androids if there's a perfectly capable person willing to do a job, you know?"

Jake nodded in agreement, then turned to Spectre.

"What did you bring me here for?" Lincoln asked, raising his voice again to be heard over the activity in the Drop Bay.

"There're some people I want you to meet." Desmond smiled, waving Jake to follow him through the crowds. Desmond navigated the men and women easily, dodging Marvin's and stepping over obstacles in his path. Jake followed as closely as he could, but stumbled a few times, or bumped into people once or twice, often earning him a dirty look.

Eventually, they came out the other side together, and Jake was presented with a technician's dream laid out before him. Workbenches, racks full of tools and equipment, all modified for specific purposes. Jake could make out a plasma torch, a maintenance jack and an access tuner. Bits and pieces of metal and scrap lay out in organised piles. Disassembled rifles made for humans, and weaponry made for Titans were also in pieces around the workspace. In the middle of it all, was a twenty foot Atlas Titan, currently armless with its cockpit jammed open. Sparks flew from somewhere behind it, and the sound of metal banging on the steel-titanium chassis.

Next to the right leg of the Atlas stood a Marvin with customised black paint and yellow highlights, holding an industrial blowtorch. It gave a glance to the two approaching Pilots, and gave them a few welcoming beeps and shrill tones in greeting. Jake waved back with a smile at the Marvin as Desmond looked around, whistling in appreciation, then called out.

"Oi, Sprocket! Where are you?!" He yelled. Immediately, the sparks from behind the Titan ceased, as did the banging, followed by a loud thud.

" _Fuck."_ A voice muttered. "You made me drop my ion-torch, Des!"

A man emerged from behind the Atlas, clad in oily mechanic overalls with the sleeves rolled up. He wrung his dirty hands in a rag, but it did very little to actually clean them. A habit, Jake supposed. His face was marked with streaks of grease and he had scratches and cuts all over his forearms, but he still bore a wide grin as he approached the pair. The man maintained his smile as he shook hands with both men, and Jake realised he had a strong grip for someone so small.

"How're doing, man? It's been a while." Sprocket greeted Desmond. "How are those upgrades on Scarecrow working out?"

"It's been too long, Max." Desmond smirked. "And, yeah, they've been pretty good to us so far. I've yet to really put the new leg servos' and the flash core to their limits, but I'm satisfied with how she's holding up."

"That's great news!" Max replied, then thumbed over to Jake. "Who's the new guy?"

"How'd you know?" Jake asked with a small smirk. Max turned to Lincoln.

"Buddy, I'm the Head Titan Engineer on the _Sparrow_." He told Jake with a hint of sarcasm. "I know every damn Pilot on this ship because I know their Titans." The man replied with a wide smile. "Max Colman, people call me Sprocket, like the cog. I keep every Pilot's big-badass-buddy in working condition for when you need him."

Max pointed at the armless Atlas as if to express his point.

"Jake Lincoln, but Ace is fine." Lincoln replied.

"Ace, huh?" Sprocket chuckled. "What is it with you Pilots and your callsigns? You get more narcissistic with every new recruit."

Jake genuinely laughed at that. "I can assure you, Max, I _earned_ it." Lincoln's mind briefly flashed with the memories of David training him and playing cards with Miller, but he shook away the thought away to escape the guilt.

"Oh?" Sprocket probed.

"Yeah, I play a mean hand of poker." Jake explained. "I shoot pretty good too."

Sprocket laughed. "I can tell we're going to be friends, _Ace_."

The Marvin that had been working on the Atlas' leg cooed and whistled at the enginner. He tutted at the machine.

"Never you mind that, Nigel." He sighed, then wiped his eyes as if to think. Sprocket clicked his fingers at the android, as if an idea had struck him. "Just use the depleted-uranium plating to adjust the heat-dispersion module. That should keep the condensers from overheating, okay?"

The Marvin, 'Nigel', cooed again and shuffled towards a pile of scrap in obedience.

Desmond politely coughed. "Now that you're both introduced, I wanted to ask you about that prototype you've been working on?"

"Project Forefront?" Max's eyebrows climbed his forehead, returning his attention to the Pilots. "How'd you know about that?"

"It's a small ship, Sprocket. You know I have ears?" Desmond pointed out. Max hummed in thought, but nodded.

"Can't trust a rumour-mill these days, can you? Yeah, we're working on... _something_. But I've got my hands full with maintenance most of the time, so I've got the Ranger twins to head up the project." Max shrugged. "I trust 'em. They're good people, you know?"

Desmond nodded. "I won't pry, Sprocket, I was just curious."

"Right, sure you were." Max smiled knowingly. "But you want to know when it's finished, don't you?"

Desmond held up his hands in mocking surrender, but a telling smirk was already appearing on his face. Jake was too confused to ask what they were talking about.

"There've been a couple of hiccups with the neural link, but I'm not the one to talk to about software. At the rate those Ranger twins are keeping up? I'd say a couple of weeks, maximum? Check in with Justin and Emma, if you're so _'curious'_." Max laughed as he used finger waggles to quote Desmond. "Those kids know more than me, if I'm honest."

Spectre gasped theatrically. "Can I get that in writing? Someone knows more about engineering than the Great Max Colman?"

Sprocket whipped Desmond's arm with his rag, eliciting a wince of pain from the other man. Max just chuckled, then pointed a finger at the pair of Pilots.

"Now, don't you go telling anyone, alright?" He smiled.

"What kind of neural hiccups?" Jake asked.

"I don't know. I'm no technician, Ace." Max shrugged. "Apparently, the Ranger twins are having trouble establishing a connection between the operator and the machine. The link requires a new kind of link chip that the IMC are outfitting their more recent Pilots with."

Jake hummed in thought, wondering if he should reveal himself to the Titan Engineer as ex-IMC, but thought better of it.

"So, it's a new model of Titan?" Desmond asked with a wide smile. Max widened his eyes ever so slightly. He'd said too much.

"Don't go spreading it around, you hear?" Sprocket warned the enthusiastic Pilot. "We don't want the IMC catching wind of it, so shut your mouth. It's going to be one hell of an ace up our sleeve, if reports are to be believed."

Desmond's face became serious suddenly, and he nodded. "Got it, Sprocket. Don't worry, our lips are sealed." Spectre nudged Lincoln. "Right, Jake?"

"Right. Of course."

Max waved his hands to them, as if wafting away a fart. "Now, off with you. I've got shit to do, alright?"

As if to emphasise, he clicked his fingers at his Marvin, Nigel, and the robot turned and cooed at him, tilting its head questioningly.

"Not there, you hunk of junk!" He pointed at a separate place on the chassis. "Reinforce the plating near the shock absorbers and the motor actuators – _not_ the damn weather seals!"

The Marvin whistled sadly and went to work on the areas that Sprocket had specified.

" _Bloody hell,_ Nigel..." Max muttered to himself.

As the pair of Pilots wandered off, Jake waved the Marvin goodbye, wondering if he should have actually said something about his implant, and how it might work with the neural link issue the Militia technicians were having. His implant was designed to allow him to command a Titan when separated from it, but to also work in a more advanced symbiosis when inside the cockpit.

Jake doubted that the Militia would let him anywhere near Project Forefront for now though, so he decided to keep the secrets about his implant under wraps, at least until he'd earned the trust of Bandit Squad. Desmond looked at his watch, the cracked his neck. Jake looked at the other man as they exited the Titan Drop Bay.

"Fancy a drink?" Spectre offered. "Its lights out in an hour or so, and the tour's pretty much finished. The bar at the other end of the ship does some pretty good old Earth classics."

"Like what?" Jake asked, eyes narrowing. He was tired, but he wasn't sure whether to call it a night or stay with Desmond.

"There's this drink they do called a 'Flaming Zambuka'. Crazy, strong stuff. You in? The rest of Bandit will probably be there." Spectre smiled.

Jake thought about it for a long moment, then sighed.

"I'm just not feeling up to it. I've had a hell of a day, mate." Jake admitted. He felt guilty for not being able to go with his new friend, but he was just too tired.

Desmond shrugged, not too bothered.

"Don't worry about it." Spectre smirked. "Maybe some other time, yeah?"

"Definitely." Jake nodded. "I'll owe it to you, seeing as I missed out on this one."

"Want me to direct you back to the barracks?" Desmond asked.

"No, thanks, I should be okay." Jake replied, already wandering off down the corridor.

"Alright, sleep well, Lincoln." Desmond tipped his head to the other Pilot as strode off in the other direction, presumably towards the bar.

 **VIIIIIV**

Jake sighed loudly as he rubbed his eyes and cracked his knuckles. He rolled his neck a few times too, trying to get rid of the knot in his neck. It had been one hell of a day, and Jake would be glad to finish it at last. He finished a yawn just as he began to make out voices from around the next corner in the corridor.

Two voices, one distinctly male, and the other obviously female.

Jake narrowed his eyes as he started to make out the words of their conversation. The man sounded hoarse and rough, and Lincoln supposed he might be an older man, but the female was young, but sounded tired and defeated.

"...IMC plans you grabbed for us on the _Odyssey_ added up to more intel than we've scraped together over the past year and a half." The woman told her compatriot.

Jake stopped on the corner, not yet willing to risk a peek at the duo, but he listened intently instead.

"It was the least I could do for you, Sarah. What those bastards did to my village showed me the true enemy that day. I'm awake now." The male replied sternly.

Sarah? The Militia commander?

"We're glad to have you on our side, Macallan. Still, I don't see how we can act on the intel you got us. It's just... _impossible_. I doubt even an _army_ of Pilots could do what you're suggesting – an army we don't have."

"So, we recruit more." Macallan told her. "The resources and manpower is out there, Sarah, we just need to uncover them and take them for ourselves. If we can boost our own strength, while crippling the IMC's, we just might stand a chance – make it an even playing field."

"That's risky, Mac." Sarah replied. "We aren't exactly popular in these parts."

"You leave that to me. Once people hear about what the IMC did to my colony, they'll sign up in droves." Macallan reassured. "You focus on getting together a plan to take out Demeter."

Jake's eyes widened. Demeter? The IMC stronghold of the Frontier? That planet was a fortress, blockaded by fleets of dreadnoughts and frigates. Not to mention the surface was covered entirely by an occupying military force. Taking Demeter would be a massive blow to the IMC, but it was far from possible, especially with the losses the Militia had taken recently.

"I have the foundations of something we _think_ could work, but it all relies on a proxy threat to the IMC – a _distraction_ , to draw at least part of the blockade away to take on Demeter at the right time."

"Where do we start?" Sarah prompted.

"With one of my old contacts in Angel City."

"A friend?"

"More of an acquaintance these days. Been a while since we've talked, but he owes me one."

"Who?" Sarah pressed.

"His name's Robert Taube, but most people call him Barker."

"Barker?" Jake could hear the confusion in her voice.

"He never shuts up." Macallan chuckled. "But to get to him, we'll need to draw the IMC's attention away from the City first. It doesn't have to be anything big, but it'll have to be substantial to make the Angel City occupying force send reinforcements to wherever the distraction happens."

"There's a High-Value Target that we've been trying to eliminate in the jungles on the other side of the planet." Sarah hummed.

"An assassination?" Macallan asked.

"A small Pilot infiltration team goes in without Titan support and eliminates the target, destroying the outpost he's stationed on." Sarah nodded. "Kick the hornet's nest, so to speak. Angel City will send their troops to investigate, and we'll extract Barker while they're a few men short."

"They'll call us terrorists, or worse." Macallan sighed. "But we can't play by their rules."

"Sticks and stones, Mac. We've been called worse before." Sarah reassured.

"Still..." Macallan heaved a sigh. "Screw it, seems like our best option right now. Question is; who will you send in?"

"That's easy." Sarah smiled. "Vodnik and his Bandits can handle anything I throw at them. I'll brief them first thing tomorrow morning."

"Alright, enough talk about war. I need a drink." Macallan concluded, and Jake felt panic rise in his chest as he heard the pair begin walking in his direction, his only cover from their sight being the corner of the wall.

Frantically, Jake did the only thing he could think of. He quickly shut himself inside the nearest broom closet and held his breath as the two commanding officers rounded the corner, mere moments after he had closed the door.

Jake watched their shadows stride past the closet, and he breathed a sigh of relief as their voices faded from his hiding place. He waited another minute before grabbing the door handle and letting himself out, just to be certain he wouldn't be caught.

Jake raised an eyebrow at the absurdity of a Pilot hiding in a broom closet. They were meant to be seen as remorseless, killing machines with no empathy and the ability to command who lived and died on the battlefield – yet here he was, tripping over a bucket as he ungracefully came out of the closet. Jake was glad that nobody was around to record it and put it on the hyper-net.

He did himself a small chuckle though, wondering at the absurd nature of what it would be like watching a Pilot exit from a broom cupboard like some kind of hermit cleaning lady. With a scratch of his head and another stifled yawn, Jake made his way back to Bandit's barracks, crashing into one of the spare beds and succumbing to his exhaustion almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

 **VIIIIIV**

 **Well, thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Seeing as I didn't update for while recently, I tried to get this one out faster than usual to make up for the drought you guys had for a month and a half before Chapter Six came out. By the way, most words or phrases that Vodnik says are typically swear words, apologies or other pretty obvious things that should fit the scenario he's in. If you need clarification – Google Translate!**

 **OC's (In order of appearance):**

 **Vladimir 'Vodnik' Zuyev, Justin and Emma Ranger –** Mac Gustah **  
John Breaker -** titanfallpilotarchives **  
Palmer 'Phoros' Golsan –** Spartan Golsan-017 **  
Desmond 'Spectre' Lockett –** Xx13DeathsxX **  
Max 'Sprocket' Colman, Nigel the Marvin -** Bladezzkiller

Alan 'Scope' Castillo is my one XD

 **Anyway, onto the replies:**

 _Xx13DeathsxX_

Definitely worth the wait to read and I'm glad that Ace is now with the Militia. I can't wait to see what happens in the next chapter.

 **So am I. I only kept him with the IMC for so long so he could build the relationship with David and other important IMC characters featured in the game, otherwise I would've put with Sarah and the Militia far sooner. And, trust me, next chapter is going to be awesome.**

 _Mac Gustah_

I love the little addition to Vlad's character with the gun. You're really fleshing him out very well. And Ace had finally reached the Militia! God, I can't wait for the next chapter :) Keep up the good work!

 **I'm taking particular care of all of the OC's, it's just Vodnik and Desmond that got a chance to shine in this one, as well as Max Colman. I just wanted to do your character justice, seeing as I love fleshing out backstory and a unique personality to each character.**

 _Gotasegway_

Keep up the amazing work! I love the way you describe what Jake is going through.  
Also: dammit, a cliff-hanger :-D

 **I'll do my best to keep you entertained. I'm doing this for you guys, and I'm thankful you all seem to like it so much. I've been told I'm much better at writing dialogue than I am at writing action scenes, but I enjoy writing both just as much as I enjoyed writing my other stories. Well, at least there wasn't a cliff-hanger for this chapter blasting finger-guns and winking, 'ayyyyy'**

See you on the Frontier, Pilots.  
Reilly


	9. Chapter VIII - The Facility

The Brotherhood of Battle

Chapter VIII – The Facility

 _ **Lincoln's Logbook:**_

 _ **Well, looks like my chance to prove my loyalty to the Militia has arrived. Sarah called everyone in Bandit to the bridge of the Sparrow this morning and gave us an assignment to kill some IMC big-wig and destroy a heavily-guarded facility in an effort to divide their forces occupying Angel City, drawing them away to give the Militia a fair chance at retrieving what they need there.**_

 _ **We're on the dropship now, and I don't know what to make of some of my new squad-mates. Golsan and Breaker clearly don't trust me yet.**_

 _ **I tell you; if looks could kill...**_

 _ **Desmond and Vlad seem to like me enough, and Castillo looks as if he's giving me the benefit of the doubt for now – even if he isn't all there in the head. I'll admit, they're right to be cautious; I wouldn't trust a defector right away. I just hope I get an opportunity to show that I'm not with the IMC anymore.**_

 _ **Easier said than done, that's for sure.**_

Lincoln finished his journal entry and put down his tac-pad, Jake cracked his knuckles a few times, making sure he'd popped each one before pulling on his armoured gloves. He blew out a shaky breath and tilted his head to the side, hearing a few satisfying clicks from the vertebrae in his back. He sighed through his nose and looked around the drop-ship's blood-bay.

The five other Pilots inside were all doing whatever they felt like needed doing the most at that point. Desmond was snoring; Vodnik was looking at the plan for the mission, and Castillo was using an oil stone to sharpen his machete; Rosita.

Golsan and Breaker tended to their gear and weapons. They both sported standard Pilot gear, but Jake noticed a few alterations that each of them had made - perhaps for personal reasons, perhaps for functionality.

Lincoln watched intently as Golsan tended to a wrist-mounted device on his left arm, sporting a reel of high-tension cable attached to a vicious looking hook at one end.

A grappling device, maybe?

Jake frowned, it seemed useful, but he wondered if it was best suited to the mission. Surely, a cloaking device like Jake's would be more functional on an assignment that required stealth over manoeuvrability? Lincoln shrugged. Certainly, the Pilot must have a legitimate reason for his loadout.

Jake checked his weapon, making sure it was fully loaded and the sights were aligned. A standard Militia assault rifle; the R-101C Carbine. He'd lost his previous armament in his defection from the IMC, but his revolver had been returned to him, sitting neatly in a holster on Jake's thigh.

He nodded, satisfied with his gear. Suddenly, Spectre let out a particularly loud snore and fell onto Jake's shoulder, sleeping like a log. The movement caught Vodnik's eye and he smiled at the odd position the ex-IMC Pilot now found himself in.

The Russian man stood from his seat on the other side of the blood-bay and relocated so he sat next to Jake on his other side. Vlad chuckled as he sat, handing Jake the tac-pad that showed the plan for the mission. Jake gave it a thorough examination as the vessel shook and juddered with turbulence through the stormy night.

.

Mission: _  
Assassinate IMC Colonel Jaret Ubento_

Location: _  
Planet Fostora, Southern Hemisphere_

DeploymentRoster: _  
Vladimir 'Vodnik' Zuyev, Alan 'Scope' Castillo, Palmer 'Phoros' Golsan, Desmond 'Spectre' Lockett, John Breaker, Jake 'Ace' Lincoln_

Deployment Method:  
HALO (High-Altitude Low-Opening) Jump

Conditions: _  
Volatile, high amounts of poisonous gaseous entities, beware and use helmet respirators at all times._

TitanfallAccuracy: _  
60% (It is not recommended that any Titans are signalled in this mission unless absolutely necessary)_

Weather: _  
Severe thunderstorms, high winds exceeding 60 mph._

FacilitySecurityLevel: _  
Unknown, expected high amount of infantry and armoured support based on target priority._

.

As Jake read through the last few lines of the tac-pad, a red light suddenly illuminated the blood-bay, bathing the room in a fluorescent crimson glow. Lincoln looked around at the other members of the Squad, watching as Breaker and Golsan stood up and pulled on a pair of bulky backpacks.

Jake sighed as he returned the tablet to Vodnik and tapped Desmond on the shoulder. The man groaned as he woke, frowning at the vivid red light that disturbed his groggy state. As soon as he was able, Jake stood too, and pulled on his own backpack, securing the harness and straps to hold it tight against his body. Lincoln slipped on his helmet and waited for the filters in the respirator to kick in. He grimaced at the taste of the stale air that rolled into his lungs every time he inhaled.

Vodnik checked his watch and nodded to the rest of the men assembled in the shuttle. He pulled a lever hanging from the ceiling of the blood-bay, and the rear end of the vessel promptly lowered to form a ramp.

"We're cruising at thirty-thousand feet; the facility is directly below us. Initial insertion will last for ninety seconds. We jump together; pull chutes at five-thousand feet, on my mark." Vodnik turned to face the opening at the back of the dropship, doing a few last-minute checks to his gear.

"Remind me; why we can't just take the ship all the way down?" Castillo asked over the team radio.

"The IMC would register the heat signatures from the engines when we reached ten-thousand feet. We'd be shot out of the sky." Desmond explained.

"Right, that's what I thought. So, why aren't we just jumping from eleven-thousand feet?"

Jake smiled, it was a fair point. But he already knew the answer.

"We're _Pilots_! We never do anything by a half-measure! The extra nineteen-thousand are for bragging rights!" Golsan replied, having to shout above the wind to make himself heard.

"Oo-rah!" The others chorused as one.

The light in the blood-bay turned green, and Vodnik rushed out of the ship, jumping into the dark, stormy night. To Jake, it almost looked like jumping into the jaws of oblivion.

And Jake was going to follow him. For no other reason than because it was his mission.

With one last nervous inhale of the stale air being fed to him through his helmet's respirator, Jake ran at full speed towards the rear of the ship, diving out and following the rest of Bandit towards the surface of the planet below. Forcing his body into the most aerodynamic shape – arms by his sides, legs pointed towards the oblivion of space, eyes focused on the jungles of the backwater planet stretched before him.

The ship zoomed away into the night, leaving the Pilots to fend for themselves against the presumable hordes of IMC in the area.

 **VIIIIIV**

One by one, the Pilots landed in the canopy of the thick jungles, spread out between a few trees. They made short work of the fall to the jungle floor with their jump-packs and landed onto the wet obsidian ground, flanked on all sides by a lush jungle environment, just a mile outside the facility they were infiltrating. The Militia had invested a lot of their resources to get Bandit Squad here, and Jake knew that this mission would be a make-or-break for the M-COR's trust in him. If they could pull this off, he'd get their full trust.

Even from their landing zone, they could make out the bulky shape of the facility, standing at least forty stories tall and had an array of antenna at its top. Spotlights swept through the sky and across the jungle canopy.

"Baseplate, this is Bandit-Actual." Vodnik spoke clearly and concisely into the radio, every word was precise and comprehensible. All of it assured Jake of the stakes of this mission. "Insertion complete, moving on the objective, ETA twenty minutes."

" _Copy that, Bandit-Actual. Keep comm chatter to a minimum until you radio for extraction. Baseplate out."_ Sarah instructed.

They began their trek towards the facility, knowing full well how possible it was that they might not return.

 **VIIIIIV**

"Anything, Adams?" The man leaning over his shoulder asked him.

Avery shrugged. The infra-red scanners had pinged with six heat signatures falling through the sky, almost too fast to detect. This facility was supposed to be top-secret. If it was the Militia, which was unlikely, they come in force. Especially if they wanted to take the facility for themselves.

"No, sir, nothing now." Adams narrowed his eyes at the screen. "I don't know what it was, but I don't trust it."

"Could it have been a glitch?" His commanding officer, Lieutenant Reyes, asked.

"Respectfully, sir, the IMC gave us top-of-the-line equipment. I doubt the system has any bugs in it." Avery replied courteously.

"Good point, private." Reyes admitted, then hummed in thought. "Any idea what it could have been?"

"Not yet, sir. Possibly just some birds."

"Last time I checked, birds don't just fall out of the sky." Reyes shifted his tone to something a little harder. Adams shrugged again.

"I don't know, sir, that storm out there is one of the worst we've had in a while. Some local fauna could've been hit by a lightning or something." Avery suggested.

"Not to mention the damn toxic fog clouds," Reyes shook his head, "This really is a shit place to call home."

"You said it, sir." Adams smiled. Reyes chuckled lightly too, giving his subordinate a pat on the shoulder.

"Keep an eye on it, anyway. And file a report on it when you switch with Stonehill tomorrow!" Reyes ordered as he walked away and out of the door.

Adams nodded to himself, staring at the screen a little while longer, wondering what it had actually been that triggered the sensors. After a few more moments pondering, Adams shrugged and went back to work.

" _Fucking birds..."_ He muttered with a small smirk on his lips.

 **VIIIIIV**

After a few minutes of trekking through the jungle, Spectre tried starting a conversation. The Pilots were all close enough to each other that they didn't need the use of their radios.

"Goddamn. IMC certainly knows how to hide their facilities, backwater or hyper volatile planets. Thank god for sympathisers, you know?" Desmond stepped over a tree-root, bashing aside large plants with his data-knife.

Vodnik suddenly stopped at the front of the line, holding up a fist to signal an all-stop. Bandit halted in their tracks, silent, weapons raised. They waited with bated breath, eyes darting this way and that as if expecting an enemy to appear from the fog and jungle floor. They listened to the wind whistle and the thunder boom from high above.

Then they heard it.

Voices - coming from somewhere in front of them.

Immediately, the Pilots scrambled for cover, dispersing noiselessly into the undergrowth of the jungle. Hiding amongst trees and overgrown plant life, several Pilots engaged their cloaks, while the rest, who were unable to deploy cloaks simply stood as still as they could between foliage, hoping to blend in with their surroundings, the primarily green armour doing a decent job of camouflaging them from plain sight.

Soon, the voices became louder, and a patrol of IMC Grunts, twelve in all, wandered past the Militia Pilots, chatting and laughing amongst themselves. Lincoln waited as the patrol walked by, at an achingly slow pace. Jake could feel the stares of the other members of Bandit on him. Their scepticism would be confirmed if Lincoln alerted the patrol to their existence.

But Jake made no sound, and didn't move a muscle.

Eventually, the Grunts left Bandit's view, moving on to their next objective on their patrol route. After a minute, they were out of earshot too. Only then did Vodnik jump down from his branch, disengaging his active camouflage, waving another hand signal for the rest of Bandit to fall in. They complied, and soon enough, their patience was rewarded with a criss-crossing metal mesh fence. They'd made it to the perimeter of the compound that housed their objective.

"Ion-cutter." Vodnik commanded, pointing at a specific point in the fence. Wordlessly, Golsan stepped forward and kneeled before the fence, taking out a small blow-torch. He ignited the business end of the tool and promptly began to cut a hole in the fencing.

While he worked on the security measure, Vodnik turned to Scope, pointing a finger at one of the nearby trees, one that was too tall for Jake to see the height of. The trunk was as wide as a car, and it seemed like it had been here for decades, if not centuries.

"Try and set-up somewhere up there." Vlad instructed. "It should give you a line-of-sight on the target if we blow it and he tries to escape to the landing pads. We'll wait for your go."

Castillo nodded and began to make his way up the thick trunk of the tree, and was soon swallowed up by the fog that enveloped the canopy about thirty feet up in the air. After a minute of nervous waiting, Golsan had the opening ready and Bandit made their way through, readying their gear once they were each on the other side.

" _Don't expect much in the way of sniper support, these winds are unpredictable and it'll make it difficult to aim, I'm afraid."_ Castillo told them all over the radio once he'd settled at the top of the tree. _"Fog doesn't help much, either."_

"Copy that, Scope. You'll be our last resort." Vodnik replied, then nodded to the rest of Bandit.

As one, they moved towards the large building where their target was supposed to be. Once they reached the grey monotonous walls the IMC were famous for, Spectre piped up.

"How are we getting in?" He asked. There were no windows, and the only door to the facility was heavily guarded at all times.

Jake answered the question by simply pointing to a ventilation hatch, about as large as the average man-hole cover, enclosed by a metal grating.

"How will we know when we've found the target?" Golsan asked. "We don't even have solid intel on his location in the facility. How are we going to ID him?"

Vodnik finished screwing on a suppressor onto his sidearm, then aimed at the ventilation shaft. "I suppose he will be the one with the most guards, _da_?"

Firing four bullets in each corner of the grating, the cover to the shaft fell off the wall, which Breaker promptly caught seconds later as it descended to the ground. Vodnik signalled to Golsan, who swiftly fired his grappling hook into the vent, pulling himself in rapidly. Soon, he was out of sight, leaving the other four Pilots alone in the stormy night.

Spectre loaded his G2 and checked his sidearm, then looked towards the perimeter of the facility. "I think we should split up, sir." He pointed out to Vlad.

"Any reason, Spectre?"

"We've only got a small time-frame to get this done. The fleet will be ready to assault Angel City within an hour. It will take too long to go from planting explosives to eliminating the target. Besides, we need to locate an extraction vehicle and take down those anti-air defences for when we escape." Desmond explained.

" _He's got a point, sir. There's a lot to do, and not enough time to do it."_ Golsan agreed from his position in the vents over the radio. _"Breaker and I can handle setting the explosives, then we'll get those AA guns offline."_

" _Da_ , this is good idea, I know. But I do not like the thought of splitting up." Vodnik told them all.

"Respectfully, sir, leave it to Ace and me to kill Ubento. You've always been pretty handy at 'liberating' IMC vessels." Desmond smiled.

Vlad seemed to spend a few moments pondering his choices, leaving the other Militia Pilots in silence for the majority of a minute. Eventually, Vodnik nodded.

"Very well, we will do as you say, Spectre." His thick Russian accent seemed to rumble through them, much like the thunder in the heavens. "But this means you are buying first round once we return to the _Sparrow_." He laughed.

They all chuckled at that. It was nervous laughter, though. This was going to be a difficult mission, and it was highly likely that they'd fail, or pay a high price to succeed. Jake thanked the fact that he wore a helmet; otherwise these men would be able to see through the brave face he was putting on.

Jake pulled back the slide on his carbine as the wall next to them slid open, revealing Golsan with his Data-Knife buried in a nearby outlet. Lincoln exhaled shakily as they entered the Facility, knowing it might be the last time he'd see the outside world ever again.

Before they all went their separate ways, Jake watched Golsan lean over to Spectre, and whisper into his ear. Jake barely made out what was said, but he heard enough to know that these men didn't trust him. They were certain he'd betray them at any moment.

" _You sure you wanna put your life in the hands of an IMC Pilot?"_

Desmond shook him away, and engaged his active camouflage as he walked away from the other Pilots. Lincoln stared at Phoros' visor for a long moment before similarly engaging his cloak and following his comrade in the belly of the beast.

 **VIIIIIV**

Private Taelor was just obediently following orders, patrolling the corridors of the large facility, grumbling about the penetrating cold that he could feel, even through his thermal underweave. The Grunt continued to complain about the faint smell of sulphur in this wing of the building, turning to see if his partner was listening to his gripes or simply ignoring Taelor. As expected, the other man's face was a slab of sheer boredom. Taelor cleared his throat and drew his friend's attention to him.

"Derren, how much longer will it take to finish our rounds? We should've gotten off ages ago. My underweave is beginning to itch." Taelor impatiently asked.

The Colonel, Jaret Ubento, had pushed his men to the brink of mutiny with his harsh shift schedule. They would train for hours upon hours, sometimes all the way from dawn until dusk, and then they'd have to start their patrols. The Colonel claimed it was to prepare in case of an assault from the Militia, but Taelor didn't believe any of it.

He was always just tired now, and _everything_ always hurt like hell.

"Not much longer. It should only be a few hours now." Derren replied in a bored manner as he checked his watch for the umpteenth time. Despite his words, any sign of rest still seemed far away to Taelor, who just shrugged. "Besides, you shouldn't complain so much. You know how Ubento punishes insubordination."

Taelor's blood ran cold and a shiver worked its way up his spine just thinking about it. A few weeks ago, the upset from the harsh hours had come to a head, and a number of soldiers had roused themselves to go to the Colonel, complaining of the cruel treatment he gave them, asking for at least a day off to recover.

Their punishment had been severe.

The Commander had answered their request with force. He made an example of them. Ubento had ordered several Spectres to relieve them from duty and lock them up. There had been a scuffle, but the troopers never stood a chance against the robots. After the men had spent a week without food, the Colonel sent them out into the toxic jungles that surrounded the facility – without any breathing equipment.

Those men never came back.

Taelor had not approved of this action, as those Grunts were not mutineers. They were not 'insubordinates'. They were simply _exhausted_ – desperate for rest for more than three or four hours.

Taelor was about to reply to Derren about how he was not saying anything deserving of being called 'insubordination', when his friend's neck was sliced open by the knife of some mysterious attacker. Taelor opened his mouth to scream, but the sound was stolen from his lungs as he was shot in the throat by a suppressed pistol. Within seconds, both men were dead, and Vodnik deactivated his cloak, bowing his head in a silent prayer before moving on to the hangar to secure an escape vehicle.

 **VIIIIIV**

"We're here for a purpose. Keep it quiet for as long as we can. Only fire if absolutely necessary." Spectre told Jake, making various hand signals when it was appropriate

The ex-IMC moved behind a patrolling guard with his active-camouflage engaged. He placed a hand on the man's mouth to muffle any shouts of panic and wrapped his other arm around the guard's neck in a tight chokehold. After a few seconds, the IMC Grunt slipped into the depths of unconsciousness and was slowly let down to the ground by Jake's careful hands.

"Hide any bodies, okay? No messes." Desmond told him. Jake nodded, dragging the guard's limp form into a nearby broom cupboard.

"Let's go." Jake replied, the pair carefully making their way down corridors and hallways, peeking around every corner as they went.

Ace cursed.

"I found the elevator, but the thing's too heavily guarded. We'll have to find another way of-"

But Desmond didn't listen. He knew the IMC's tactics, how Grunts would react if he was seen. The Pilot could handle this easily enough. Five Grunts stood before the elevator doors, staring down the corridor, eyes alert and aware for any signs of trouble.

Desmond stepped out from behind cover, throwing an Arc grenade at the guards. They barely had time to realise his presence before the grenade detonated with a dull thud, immobilising every guard stationed at the end of the corridor for a few precious seconds. Lockett wasted no time in running up to the group of Grunts and snapped their necks as fast as he could. It would've been easier to slash their throats, but that would be too messy, too easily detected if a patrol found the elevator unguarded.

Within moments, all five Grunts lay dead at Spectre's feet, their luke-warm bodies still fidgeting and twitching. Jake stepped out from the cover of the corner, walking steadily towards the elevator doors.

" _Jesus_..." Lincoln breathed out, appalled and slightly in awe.

Desmond turned and looked at his partner with a steely gaze, but soon bent down to pick up a body. He called the elevator and the doors slid open. He walked inside and shot the grating in the ceiling of the cubicle of its hinges. It was a large enough opening, easily wide enough to accommodate the Grunt. Spectre pushed the body through the gap and went to pick up another guard. Desmond gestured at Lincoln.

"You just gonna stand there and gawk, or what?"

Jake snapped into action, assisting Desmond in hiding the bodies on top of the elevator carriage. Within a minute, the corridor was empty, save for the two Militia Pilots, as if had been undisturbed for hours.

Jake nodded to his friend, swallowing the lump in his throat at seeing the IMC Grunts killed so easily and without a second thought from the other Pilot.

Together, they both went the same way as the bodies, through the hatch in the ceiling of the elevator pod, and stood on its roof, looking up into the heights of the elevator shaft, the darkness broken only by a few intermittent emergency orange lights.

Desmond gripped the dense metal cable that held the pod in place and began to ascend using his jump-jets and the more traditional rope-climbing method. Jake followed suite, and the pair were on their way to the top floor, presumably where the IMC Colonel would be.

After all, a good view of the planet you've conquered is a must-have addition to any office - especially when you're a twisted, ruthless sadist.

 **VIIIIIV**

Elsewhere in the facility, Breaker and Golsan crept along another grey corridor, searching for their objective. They'd already placed the explosives near the base of the building. If detonated, the explosions and the resulting structural damage would turn this place to rubble within a few minutes.

Now, they were seeking out the hub of the building's surveillance centre, hoping to blind any cameras in the facility to their presence and reduce the risk of getting caught before they moved on to find the control room for the turret defences around the outside of the facility.

"Hey, Breaker?" Golsan whispered.

"What?"

"What do you think of that Project Forefront the techies are so excited about? Do you know what it is?" Golsan asked.

"Don't know. We don't exactly have clearance, do we?" Breaker replied, keeping his eyes peeled for any enemies.

"My money's on some kind of weapon we can use against the IMC." Golsan thought out loud. "Some kind of super-weapon, maybe? Capable of destroying IMC ships in one hit."

"I doubt it." Breaker chuckled. "I'm thinking it'll be some sort of technology upgrade. Maybe something that'll turn the tide."

"Are you being vague on purpose, John?" Golsan asked his partner.

"What if it's a new Titan then?" Breaker countered. This earned a hum of thought from the other Pilot.

"That's an idea. Some kind of Militia-made Titan of our own, you mean? That'd be pretty sweet. We'll have the IMC running." He mused, smiling to himself.

They rounded a corner and they made out a door at the far end of the next hallway, the sign above it read; 'surveillance operation'.

"For now, let's focus on the mission, okay?" Breaker got into a position on one side of the door so he wouldn't be seen and screwed a suppressor onto his pistol. He looked to Golsan and shrugged. "Just in case."

Breaker and Golsan hastily made their way to the control room and took position at the door. They exchanged a look and nodded to each other.

"Ready?" Breaker asked quietly. Golsan simply nodded in reply.

Breaker kicked the door open, and Golsan shot the three guards in the room before they could even react. Breaker quickly sat down at the console, fingers tapping away at the keyboard as Golsan dragged the corpses into the corner of the room.

"The surveillance room is ours, disabling motion sensors and cameras. We're setting charges and moving to capture the control room. We'll be able to disable the AA guns remotely from there." Breaker reported to Vodnik.

" _Good work. Keep up the pace, da? We have no time to lose."_ The squad leader replied in a hushed voice.

Golsan placed a satchel charge onto the underside of the console. The screens in front of Breaker went dark, the security measures installed in the facility shut off.

"Understood, we're moving out." Golsan informed Vlad in a calm tone. He turned to his partner. "That's the last satchel charge. That, in addition to the ones we put around those structural weaknesses earlier, should be enough of a distraction for us to jump ship when we're ready."

"Sounds good." Breaker nodded. "Let's just hope Vodnik can steal a dropship before we're discovered."

Golsan tutted, shrugging.

"I'm more worried about that ex-IMC blowing our cover and handing us over to Blisk." Golsan reminded his friend.

"That's not our concern right now. Desmond can handle him if he tries something, you know that." Breaker countered.

"You're right. We've got a job to do. Shall we?" Golsan gestured towards the door they'd just come from.

Breaker chuckled and walked out of the entrance to the now useless room.

"Let's do it."

The duo proceeded slowly down the halls of the IMC facility, watching each other's backs. Golsan and Breaker maintained a determined silence, too focused on the task at hand to speak. They knew where they were going.

Their HUD's were slowly guiding them with checkpoints towards the control room for the facility's defences. So far, there had been no resistance, which surprised Breaker, but he wasn't about to complain. It was eerily quiet, only the dull cracks of thunder from outside the building could be heard by the Pilot, making Breaker wondered whether any of their comrades had already been through this area.

Golsan tried to block it all out, tried to focus on his mission, but it grew more difficult to tune it all out as they drew ever nearer to the site of their objective. His HUD told him that they were about five-hundred feet away now. He exhaled a shaky breath, nervous of what was to come. He glanced to Breaker, who had his own weapon sweeping the area around them, ready to fire at a moment's notice – for whatever came charging at him.

Golsan could only try and imagine what the other Pilot must have been thinking at that moment. Anxiety? Anger? Bitterness? Perhaps a combination of all three. Palmer couldn't begin to guess what his friend was feeling at that exact moment. But as they rounded the final corner to near the doorway to the facility's control room, the Pilot instantly forgot about it.

Two targets were on the other side of the door, one on the left standing guard and one sitting at a computer terminal, monitoring the stations defences. Besides that, it seemed as if no other soldiers were in the immediate vicinity. Golsan counted down on his fingers then nodded to Breaker. As one, they emerged from the doorway, Golsan sticking his Data-Knife into the guard's throat, killing him nearly instantly as he gurgled on his own blood.

Breaker sprinted up to the second Grunt who still calmly sat with his back turned to the two Pilots, unaware of their presence, eyes glued to the screen. The Pilot came up behind him and wasted no time in wrenching his head back and swiftly stabbing him between the eyes, killing the man instantaneously.

Breaker pulled the body off the chair and sat at the terminal, hands flying over the keyboard, eyes watching the screens carefully. After a minute of tampering with the Anti-Aircraft turrets situated along the perimeter of the facility, Breaker keyed his radio to their squad leader.

"Vodnik, this is Breaker. Golsan and I have brought down the station's defences, we've got about ten minutes before they come back online." He reported.

" _Good work."_ Vodnik replied after a moment. _"I have commandeered an IMC dropship, meet me on the roof. Spectre and Ace will join us shortly. I've already picked up Castillo."_

"Understood, sir. We're moving out."

 **VIIIIIV**

"Spectre and Ace reporting, we're in position." Spectre spoke into his comm device, his voice barely above a whisper. "Target in sight. Requesting permission to engage."

 _"Negative, Bandit Three."_ Vodnik replied. " _Hold position, wait for my signal."_

"Yes, sir." Desmond sighed, but kept his sights glued to the target, who continued to tend to papers on the desk. Jake kept on monitoring their six, checking for reinforcements.

"Anything?" Desmond asked him.

"Not yet. Let's hope it stays that way." Ace replied.

His eyes swept over the bland corridor like a hawk, his ears straining to hear any sound other than the ambient sounds of the base. It went on like that for a few minutes. The target continued to go about his business, and had moved to look out the window by the time Vodnik radioed in.

 _"Golsan confirms that the charges are set, and Breaker just called in that the facilities anti-air defences are disabled for ten minutes. Advance on the target, then rendezvous on my position. How copy?"_

"Copy. Moving in now." Spectre replied, making his way towards the man at the end of the room.

 _"Roger that. Golsan will blow the charges when you're ready to extract. Should be enough of a distraction to get everyone out."_ Vodnik replied, moments before cutting the line.

"On me, Ace." Spectre whispered, pulling out a knife from his boot. "Keep your weapon hot."

"Got it." Jake whispered back. Slowly but surely, Desmond got closer to the IMC officer. He was a few paces away from the target when the man flinched, ever so slightly. Desmond brought his knife forward, hasty to complete the objective, but the man whipped around. He deflected the blade, punching Desmond in the neck as his weapon was pushed away from him. Spectre stepped back, but the target didn't let up, kicking Desmond in the stomach and sending him flying with a swift blow to the chest.

Jake moved out of the way to avoid Spectre's crumpled form, groaning from his beating. Jake did a double-take and aimed his weapon squarely at the target's head.

The gun jammed, clicking futilely as Jake pulled the trigger, again and again.

"Second hand equipment never delivers when needed most, hmm?" The man opposite Jake chuckled.

"That's the Militia for you, mate." Jake grunted in annoyance, casting the weapon aside and stepping forward into a fighting stance, drawing his Data-Knife from its sheathe on his belt, flicking it around in his hand. "Luckily, I don't need to kill you with bullets."

Ubento raised an eyebrow, and smiled.

"What makes you so certain you'll succeed where your friend here failed?" He asked, gesturing to the groaning form of Spectre on the floor next to Ace.

Jake shrugged nonchalantly, huffing.

"Nothing, I guess. But you'll be dead soon enough, I _can_ promise you that."

"Then I can promise you that I won't go down without a fight."

"That's the idea, mate." Jake told him as he lunged towards the IMC officer.

Ubento raised his fists into a guard, and Jake slammed into his body with a flurry of blows, trying to connect to some unprotected portion of his torso. It was difficult, and had little effect on the man, despite his grunts of pain. The man brought his knee up to Jake's stomach, the blow stealing the wind from the Pilots lungs. The colonel pressed his advantage, striking hard at Jake's throat, which was only protected by a thin layer of underweave and pushed the Pilot away in one deft motion.

A creeping blur was forming on the edges of Jake's eyes, but he pushed the pain down, doing his best to ignore it. In the moments Ace took to collect himself, Ubento managed to return to his desk and press a button on the side of his desk.

Immediately, an alarm blared around the room, and Jake supposed it was the same for the rest of the facility.

 _Well, there goes our cover..._

"Security will be here in less than a minute, terrorist. It seems you have a choice. Stay here and be condemned to a life in prison; or run away like the coward you are, back to your little rat-hole and pathetic terrorist friends." Ubento told the pair with a cruel triumphant smile.

Jake shakily regained his footing and rolled his neck a few times. He snapped his fingers to draw Desmond's attention, but his eyes never left the Colonel.

"I need you to go." Jake told him firmly.

"What? I'm not leaving you to be captured by these guys." Spectre protested.

"I'll be fine, mate. I've got a plan." Jake replied, his tone hard and commanding. "Get to the roof, give Vodnik your location, then tell him to bring the bird around to the ground floor, got that?"

Some instinct must have kicked in in Desmond's head, because he stood up and limped towards the doorway, presumably on his way to comply with Jake's order. Once he was gone, Jake gave Ubento his full attention once more.

"Alone, at last." Lincoln smiled. "You have fewer than fourth seconds Pilot, you really ought to leave, or prepare face the consequences." The man replied, clearly uninterested in either eventuality.

"Funny. I was about to say the same thing to you."

"Excuse me?" Ubento replied, eyes flashing in confusion.

Jake shrugged.

"Well, you have a bit less than forty seconds. That's the only difference. More like twenty, in your case." Lincoln informed him, oozing confidence.

"Your arrogance will get you nowhere, Militia scum. Clearly, you have no interest in leaving. And I have changed my mind; we will _not_ take you prisoner. You will die." Ubento told him, anger clear in his voice.

Jake simply chuckled in response.

"Aye, I probably will, mate. But not today, and not because of the likes of you." He laughed. " _You_ , on the other hand..."

Colonel Ubento clenched his jaw in frustration, then launched himself at the Pilot. Anger washing over his mind, he struck out of rage and need, not strategy or restraint.

Just what Jake had been waiting for.

With a swift and precise motion, Jake brought his Data-Knife up into the other man's torso. The blade wedged itself into Ubento's chest cavity, piercing his heart. It took a moment for the Colonel to recognise his impaled state, and he looked down at the hilt of the knife in shock, then fear. Jake let the grip go, stepping away from what he now considered to be a walking corpse. He strode over to the door to the office, closing the room off from the outside world.

He pressed a panel next to it to deadlock the door, and a bulkhead came down over the entrance in addition. Jake then smashed the panel, and turned back to Ubento.

The man in question had now sunk to his knees, clutching at the blade lodged into his body, trying to wrestle it free. But his strength was fading fast, and within moments he flopped to the ground, face first - dead.

"Can't say you deserved to die, mate. It was just business." Jake told the corpse, kneeling down to retrieve his knife. "Just a distraction."

Soon, there was a loud thudding on the door, and dull voices barking orders on the other side. The reinforcements.

"Even so, I do feel a bit sorry for you." Jake continued as he wiped the blood off of the blade on the dead Colonel's clothes and sheathed his knife and retrieved his jammed carbine from the ground, slinging it on his back. "You might have lived longer if we didn't need to draw the IMC away from Angel City so badly. But it's too late for that now."

Sparks began to fall from the bulkhead leading into the room. The IMC were cutting their way inside. Jake didn't have long.

"I'm sorry you had to die, so I hope you find some peace in the next life, down there among the dead." Jake finished, and he closed Ubento's glassed-over eyes with two gloved fingers.

 _"Breaching!"_ Jake heard someone yell from the other side of the doorway, and an explosion followed a moment later.

Jake sprang into action, running straight towards the floor-to-ceiling windows, firing a few rounds into it with his B3 Wingman revolver to weaken the impact-resistant panes of glass. Cracks splintered in the clear surface and Jake crossed his arms as he ran into the windows, leaping out into the stormy night. The glass shattered, just as the first of the IMC reinforcements began to enter the room and shoot at him.

Then, he fell.

Suddenly, an IMC dropship swooped in below him, and Jake activated his jump-jets to land safely on top of the shuttle. He quickly opened the emergency hatch on top of the aircraft, and entered the vehicle as the first shower of small-arms bullets hammered into the roof of the dropship.

Jake beamed as he saw all the other members of Bandit inside the drop-bay with their helmets off, they were equally joyous, and Golsan bellowed as soon as Jake had sealed the hatch behind him.

"He's inside, Vlad! Get us the hell out of here!"

In response, the craft zoomed away and up into the night sky. Breaker looked out of the window of the shuttle and his thumb played with the lid of the detonator.

"Do it." Castillo urged him.

John nodded and pressed down on the detonators trigger. Immediately, the base of the facility was engulfed in flames, and the structure wobbled and shook as the building slowly began to fall in on itself, crumbling into rubble. A shockwave almost knocked Jake off his feet, even from this distance. The sound of the explosions accompanied the shockwave, the dull booms of the detonations only paralleled by the harsh destruction.

" _That_..." Castillo pointed with his machete "... is the most beautiful thing I've seen in fucking ages."

A few other heads nodded in agreement, but not Jake's.

True, it was terrible, but it held a harrowing beauty to it too. He swallowed a lump in his throat, thankful that David hadn't been there to see how he'd turned traitor, committed to the Militia's cause. He was equally thankful that his mentor hadn't been inside the facility and suffered the same fate as the IMC inside.

Then Jake had a terrifying thought. How many scientists had been inside? How many technicians or operators?

 _How many innocent people were dead because of him?_

Desmond placed a hand onto his shoulder, giving him a long look.

"Evacuation started as soon as Ubento pressed the alarm." Spectre told him, as if reading Lincoln's thoughts. "A lot of them got out."

"But how many didn't?" Jake asked quietly, so only Desmond would hear.

Then, the shuttle ascended into the thunderstorms and clouds, blocking Bandits view of the destruction.

 **Author's Note:**

 **Replies:**

Mac Gustah:

It seems fanfiction die not decide to grace me with a Notification, so I'm only seeing this now. Nonetheless, I like what I see. The twins making an entrance and further fleshing out Vlad really made me smile :)

And of course there is the introduction to Bandit Squad. God, I'm fangirling.

Anyways, keep up the amazing work, live a happy life, and as my grandpa used to say, watch out for falling cows when you see a purple dog on a Tuesday in April.

Cheers,  
Mac Gustah

 **That's a shame; I hope that this update got through to you. There's a lot more of Bandit to come, and Vlad has a lot of wisdom to unload onto Jake in the meantime. I never knew my grandfathers personally, but I'm sure they'd say the same thing.**

 **;)**

 **Not much else to say for this update. I've got next chapter all planned out, and it's going to turn Bandit's world upside down. I can tell you that it will document the battle of Angel City from Jake's perspective, and I can't wait to show you all what I have planned.**

 **See you on the Frontier, Pilots.**


	10. Chapter IX - The Battle of Angel City

The Brotherhood of Battle

Chapter IX - The Battle of Angel City

Jake sat alone in the blood bay of the stolen IMC dropship, tending to his R-101 carbine rifle. His hands moved independently in their efforts to repair the jammed weapon, his thoughts were elsewhere, lingering on an entirely different matter.

Lincoln thought about the Facility they'd just laid waste to, and about how many poor souls had been inside when the building collapsed on top of them. Had it been 'murder'? Or had Jake simply done what was asked of him, what was _necessary_ , devil damn the consequences of his actions?

Ace was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn't notice when Vlad came over and sat down next to him, giving the ex-IMC a long look.

"Something on your mind?" Vodnik asked, snapping Lincoln out of his trance.

Jake flinched at the interruption of his thoughts, but shook his head.

"No, sir." He sighed, ceasing his fiddling with the rifle. "It's just..."

"You feel guilty, _da_?" Vlad finished for him, reading into the Pilot's silence.

Jake nodded.

"It was not easy thing to do, what we did today. Nothing we do is." Vodnik informed him with a sombre tone. "But this is war, Jake. We are fighting for our way of life, our freedom, even our _humanity_. Do you understand, _moy syn_?"

"Seems a shame that in order to save our humanity, we have to abandon it first." Jake replied. Vodnik was quiet at that. "Don't you think, sir?"

"There is a time for everything, Lincoln." Vlad mused. "There is a time to fight, and a time to survive. Your old age is reserved for your regrets, Jake. That is when you are supposed to reflect on past mistakes. Not now."

"What do you mean?" Jake asked him.

Vodnik sighed.

"I can't justify the things we do out here to win, Ace, but if fighting for the Frontier has taught me anything? _Poka yest' zhizn'; Yest' nadezhda._ " Vlad uttered in Russian, nodding to himself.

"What does that mean?" Jake furrowed his brow in confusion.

" _While there is life, there is hope_." He clarified, looking around the blood-bay. Castillo sat opposite the pair of them, clutching his knife lovingly.

Jake hummed to himself; there was merit to those words, even if he could hardly think about anything but what Bandit had just done.

"What did you want from me, Vlad?" Jake asked, all too eager to try and bury his regrets underneath conversation and small talk.

"The others and I have been talking." Vlad informed him. "You had plenty of opportunities to betray us on that mission, but you did not." Jake turned to look at his squad leader, raising an eyebrow and waiting for him to elaborate. "And even though Golsan still doesn't entirely trust you – _hell_ , he barely even _likes_ you – even he agreed that you're loyal to the cause, to a certain extent." Vlad unzipped a pouch on his leg and delved into it, pulling out a small item from within it.

Jake held out a palm, and Vodnik placed the small item into his hand gently, as if he were passing the other Pilot delicate porcelain or an egg that was moments away from cracking.

"We all agreed you should have it back." Vodnik told Jake as he released the object. "Keep helping and I'm sure there'll be more we can offer you in time."

Jake nodded, glancing down to whatever Vlad had handed him.

Spades' OS chip. He'd know it anywhere.

"You're serious?" Lincoln looked at him in disbelief with a smile slowly forming on his face.

" _Da._ We had him checked for any IMC sub-routines that would track its location and lead the IMC to us, but when we didn't find any – we started looking for the right time to return him to you." Vodnik explained.

"Thank you, sir." Jake nodded his gratitude.

Smiling, Jake slid the chip into a port in his helmet and slipped the piece of armour onto his head. His HUD briefly flashed a lime green colour, he returned to its typical blue tint.

" _Hello, Jake."_ A familiar voice grated. Jake had never felt more relieved in his life.

"Morning, Spades. It's good to hear from you."

" _Likewise, Pilot."_ A soft beep shortly followed his reply. _"Attention; my operating system is experiencing difficulty connecting to the IMC battlenet, this unit recommends rebooting the primary internal-"_

"Spades, there's something you need to know."

" _Of course, Pilot."_ The A.I. intoned. _"What information does this unit require?"_

Jake exhaled as he shrugged in a roundabout way. "I don't really know how I can put it in a way that you'll understand, mate."

" _Pilot, your pulse is steadily accelerating and your blood pressure is higher than your typical average. This unit recommends you lie down or-"_

" _Spades._ "Jake warned.

The synthetic was quiet after that.

"We're no longer affiliated with the IMC. You and me – we don't align with its values or codes anymore."

" _This unit does not understand."_

"We've defected to the Marauders Corps." Jake simplified for the machine. "We're Militia now."

" _Understood."_ Spades replied almost immediately. _"Updating mission parameters and correcting friend-or-foe constraints."_

Jake was baffled. "Just like that? Don't you have some kind of IMC programming preventing something like this?"

" _To a degree, but my primary three protocols override any minor IMC sub-routines to this unit."_

There was a pause. Jake was speechless.

" _You are my Pilot, Jake. Nothing will change that."_ Spades told him, the often mono-tonal falling away for a moment to reveal a shred of empathy. _"However, this unit does have a few questions that I would be grateful for you to answer."_

"Sure thing, fire away." Jake replied, happy that his Operating System had been so understanding.

" _That would be in direct violation of Protocol Three, additionally, this unit does not have the ability to fire a weapon, please install me into a chassis to achieve this objecti-_ " Spades replied.

Jake sighed, not knowing whether the A.I. was serious or just expressing his own kind of deadpan humour.

"Just..." Jake interrupted, "...just ask your questions, mate. I'll answer them as best I can."

" _Understood. Firstly; is this defection part of a larger subterfuge to weaken or sabotage the Militia?"_

"No. This is the real thing."

" _Acknowledged. Question two; is there a Titan chassis available for this unit at present?"_

Jake smirked, thinking how humorous it was that the A.I. would ask to be put into a large machine of untold destruction and death so soon after being 'reborn'. But Jake shook his head in response.

"Sorry to say it, buddy, but you won't be stomping on any IMC Spectres for now." Jake informed him. "At least... not _just yet_. But I'm sure you'll get a nice new body soon."

" _Understood. Lastly, does Pilot David Turner know about our desertion? Is he with us?"_

 _No, he'd probably kill me as brutally as he could if he ever lays eyes on me again – and I'd probably deserve it too._

That's what Jake wanted to say, but he couldn't. He'd never wanted to hurt David the way he had. But Lincoln knew his mentor most likely wanted him dead as much as the other Militia now.

"He, ah, he knows, Spades. But he... he didn't come with us."

" _Why not?"_

Jake swallowed the lump in his throat as he spoke; this was the conversation he'd dreaded. He knew the A.I. didn't mean to play devil's advocate – that he was just programmed to obtain as much intel as he could – but, damn, if it didn't make for a difficult subject of conversation.

"He chose the IMC." Jake simply replied. "David's heart is in the right place, but they've got a grip on his mind. I'm sure if he was here to defend it, he'd call it 'duty' or something, but that's just bollocks."

" _Noted. What would you call it, Jake?"_

"Habit." Jake shrugged. "A sense of loyalty, perhaps? I think he just needs something to wake him up, or..."

Spades was silent.

"...or he might be killed fighting for the wrong side in the war that might decide the fate of the Frontier and its people."

Spades was about to reply, but a sudden change in the pitch of the engine's whine signalled the aircraft's rapid deceleration. Jake looked up to see Vodnik, Breaker and Desmond approaching him. Castillo hadn't looked up from cleaning Rosita's edge.

"We have arrived at Angel City; the Militia know not to shoot our 'commandeered' vessel down." Vodnik reported as he drew nearer, sliding on his helmet. "Golsan is flying us in."

Jake nodded his understanding, and took the outstretched arm the Desmond offered, using it to help him stand up. Lincoln cracked his neck joints as he watched the rear hatch of the dropship lower into a ramp. The glimpse into the outside world revealed a totally different environment than the jungle and toxic air they'd left behind after they'd destroyed the Facility and killed Ubento.

Skyscrapers and high-rise buildings reached up towards the clouds. The sky was a vibrant blue, and an ocean was visible on the horizon. Birds squawked and Jake could spot a small island with an enormous statue of an angel, with more than a passing resemblance to the Statue of Liberty, back on Earth.

It seemed almost... _peaceful_. The war didn't belong here. Jake's mere presence felt like an intrusion on the orderly city.

As the shuttle came to a halt over the assembled Militia force fortifying the harbour-end of the district, Bandit stepped out of the aircraft, one after the other. Lincoln looked around at the assembled Grunts and other Pilots that all went about their separate business, whether that meant checking their rifles or helping put up barricades or sealing up flanking routes. A few Militia Pilots nodded to Jake, and he returned the gesture to each.

To these men, he wasn't just another conscript, or a soldier to be used in an all-out offensive. He was part of a family, one that was forged in the fire of war – it was a bond that transcended superficial differences like skin colour and cultures. He was fighting for the future of the Frontier, and that was all that mattered. So were they - and that made them equal in every sense of the word. He was part of something bigger than himself, a brotherhood, of sorts. A brotherhood birthed in battle.

Jake could write a book about it one day, he thought as he approached an Atlas Titan holding a rather drunk man by the scruff of his shirt in between its gargantuan thumb and fore-finger.

"I'm gonna kick _alllllll_ your... asses..." He threatened, waving his fists about in a genuine effort to get the Atlas to release him.

"Who the hell is this guy?" Someone asked.

Macallan sighed as the man was lowered into an open manhole, the older man quickly climbing in after him.

"Barker was my wingman back in the Titan Wars." He explained. "Trust me; we're going to need him."

Vodnik pointed at Jake and Breaker, then pointed a finger at the man-hole that Macallan was lowering himself into as the Atlas remained, keeping it's cover open for a few more moments.

"Bandit will help the Militia distract the IMC for as long as we can. You two are going with Macallan. Keep him safe. If that VIP doesn't get to the extraction point alive, the Militia is in serious trouble. Got that?"

Breaker went to complain, but Vodnik just wagged his finger and hardened his tone.

" _Got that?"_ He asked again.

"Yes, sir." The pair replied in unison.

Breaker walked over to the manhole and lowered himself into the shaft. Jake went to follow him, but Vlad placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. Lincoln looked over to the older man, waiting for him to speak.

"John means well, he simply doesn't trust strangers. You'll win him over eventually."

Jake didn't reply, simply nodding and following John into the manhole just as the first reports of IMC soldiers deploying into the city made their way to the Militia.

 **VIIIIIV**

Wind speed, falling distance, bullet spin, gravity. Sometimes even the curvature of the planet.

All of those were things that a sniper had to take into account when aiming at a target. But adding the erratic and hasty movements of a _Pilot_? That made sniping a damn near impossibility for most people.

But Alan Castillo wasn't most people.

 _And we aren't like most in many respects, are we, 'Scope'?_

Alan shook his head, shaking away the intruding thought, he had to focus. Pulling back the bolt on his Kraber, Castillo put his eye to the lens of his sniper's scope. He searched the rooftops and streets for worthwhile targets. It wouldn't be difficult for him to take out a few Grunts, but he'd have to reload and move on to a different location, or risk being found by some IMC Pilots. So he couldn't waste the two or three shots he had on the IMC infantry.

No, he was after a much more difficult target.

 _Kill them. Burn them all. Do it. Just let us-_

"Shut up." Castillo muttered.

Immediately the voice receded, but Alan could still feel it, probing. Prodding his conscience. Looking for a way inside, a way to take over. He'd had the voice for almost two years now.

The urges to take out Rosita and make a nice long incision along the length of his forearm had plagued him almost every day since he went through the Pilot Training Programs.

The 'Other'; that's the name he'd given to... _it_.

Something about the simulation pods containing pieces of Pilot memories, enhanced by the fluid in the stim-syringes he used on, and off, the battlefield. His mind was scarred, torn in two.

The Other was always there, always kneading away at his conscience.

 _And I'll never leave you, I promise. Not like the others. Not like her. Until the day we die together..._

Alan grunted as he pushed the Other back down again, and lined up his scope to an IMC Pilot, accounting for bullet drop and wind, then pulled the trigger. His Kraber boomed and the Pilot fell, just like always. Castillo slammed back the receiver, loading another round, and looked around to see if any IMC had pin-pointed his position.

 _Not yet. But they will..._

 **VIIIIIV**

If Jake could sum up his time so far in the sewers of Angel City in one word, it would be; putrid. If he could sum it up in more than one, he'd go on to talk about how the darkness seemed to consume them all, how Barker's drunken singing and half-hearted protests echoed off the grimy walls of the tunnels and warned possible IMC forces ahead of them that they were just around the corner. And smelly.

Really, _really_ smelly.

But Vodnik had sent him and Breaker down into the pipes with Barker and Macallan, telling them to ensure that they reached the extraction point alive, preferably unharmed. That was Jake's mission, so he wasn't allowed to complain about the stench of other people's shit crawling through his breathing equipment and creeping into his nose.

Breaker hadn't so much as looked in his direction yet. The pair of them walked side by side, guns raised for any danger ahead of them. Macallan had insisted he could watch their six all on his own, but he was busy heaving Barker onwards most of the time. While they walked, Jake wondered whether Hazard was up there, fighting in the streets of Angel City. He especially wondered if David was there, searching for him, trying to find some conclusion or retribution.

 _"Wait!"_ Barker suddenly blurted out.

Jake flinched, thinking he'd spotted some kind of booby trap or IMC search party that Ace had missed.

"We've... we have to go back..." he slurred, "I left my shottie... at the bar!"

Jake shook his head in annoyance, but Macallan just scoffed and pushed forward. Breaker tutted as he resumed his march further into the tunnels. Jake fell in step with his team mate, and tried to strike up conversation.

"How do you think they're getting on? You know, up there?" Ace asked.

"I don't know." John simply replied monotonously. "I bet the IMC fell for it, though - hook, line and sinker."

"What do you think they want him for?" Jake asked, jerking a thumb in Barker's direction. John just shrugged in reply.

"No idea, but they wouldn't go to all this effort for just anyone. He must be important."

"Or know something of value. We're basically risking the entire rebellion on this..." Jake looked over at the groggy, uneven and frankly washed-up civilian that had to be held up by Macallan, or else he'd crumble under his own alcoholism, "... _person_ and whatever he knows."

"Looks can be deceiving." Breaker responded cryptically. "Maybe, but apparently, looks can also dress someone up in a ball-gown and make-up and make them all shiny and polished. But a polished turd is still just that; a piece-of-shit." Jake countered.

"Funny. When you put it that way, it reminds me of my first impression of you." Breaker reproached the ex-IMC's juvenile response.

"Charming."

"Aren't I?"

Suddenly, Jake held up a hand in a fist signalling an all-stop. The group fell silent, save for Barkers quiet mumblings about imaginary killer unicorns and rainbows that rained acid. Breaker and Jake held up their weapons towards the group's front. Jake swung his rifle around to check their six every few moments too.

There was no doubting it; marching, somewhere ahead.

Perhaps fifty metres, but the ventilation gasses and chemical fumes blocked their immediate view. The sounds of dozens of feet echoed down the sewage tunnel, growing louder by the moment. It sounded like a machine punching holes in a sheet of metal in a factory, and the noise soon grew even louder, the almost deafening booms akin to thunder clapping in these narrow tunnels.

"Take cover." Jake ordered, his instincts instructing him to take charge of the small group of four.

"Where?! Underneath the sewage?" Macallan responded in an urgent whisper.

It was true, there was nowhere to hide, the sewers seemed to only go in a straight line for miles, away from the city. And there wasn't anything that would hide them from whatever was coming toward them, growing closer every second like malevolent fog.

"Fine, prepare to fire, Breaker." Jake replied with firmness in his voice, dropping to one knee and looking down the sights of his rifle at the sounds of the unknown party ahead, their forms slowly becoming visible through the fog.

"Whatever you say, _boss_." John added sarcastically. Jake just ignored him, focused on the possible foes in front of them.

After a few more moments of listening, and watching the faint shapes take form, Jake knew they were Spectres - no doubt about it. Clunking footsteps and robotic movements made for an obvious reveal. What made it even more obvious was the burst of gunfire the first Spectre fired at the group, missing them by mere inches.

"Weapons hot! Return fire!"

Bursts of bullets spewed in both directions, whizzing past Jake's ears and shooting past his head, seemingly missing him by tiny margins. His own bullets found their targets, downing at least five of the machines within twenty seconds. Breaker supported Jake's offensive with his own fire, and Macallan did his best to shoot his pistol in one hand whilst holding Barker up in the other.

After a minute, the Spectres were twitching piles of scrap on the ground, fizzling and sparking from the bullet-holes in their bodies. Jake ejected his empty magazine, loading a fresh clip, he turned and smiled triumphantly at Breaker. John only sighed and approached one of the twitching Spectres.

"How did they know we'd be here?" Breaker asked.

"They probably didn't. Spectres are programmed to try and outsmart the enemy. This was probably just a flanking manoeuvre, just bad luck we ran into them."

Jake shook his head. Breaker stood and kicked one of the robots in the head, chuckling to himself.

"Bad luck for them, maybe." John corrected, turning back to Jake, his back to the machines.

At that moment, one of the Spectres seemed to give one last push - one final effort to kill the Pilots. It just so happened to be that John was closest to the scrap-pile and subsequently ended up being the one in its line-of-sight. It held an energy-based weapon that could punch a hole in a tank.

Jake saw the robot raise its gun to aim squarely at Breaker's head.

Then everything moved in slow-motion. Jake leapt forward, pushing Breaker out of harm's way, accidentally putting himself in the weapons path.

Lincoln felt something thump into his chest, but quickly drew his sidearm, and put the entire clip into the Spectre's head, killing it instantly. Lincoln looked over to Breaker, who sat in a heap in the floor, groaning from being pushed so hard. As soon as John saw Jake, though, he stopped moving and stared directly at him.

Jake furrowed his brow and looked over to Macallan to ask him what was wrong with John. But the other man simply stared at Jake's torso, a slack-jawed expression of horror on his face.

Jake looked down to see what they were all looking at so intently. Then, he saw it. And his heart was in his mouth. His armour has been almost completely melted, and Jake could see singed flesh and burned muscle through the gap in the armour. What was worse though, was the hole.

There was a _hole_ , where the middle of his chest should have been.

" _Oh_." Jake murmured. "That's not good..."

Then his feet went from under him. The last thing he saw before his world went black was Breaker running to catch his fall.

 **VIIIIIV**

Things were going badly for the Militia.

Actually, that was probably the understatement of the century. Things were going from bad to worse, and from worse to 'holy-shit-how-the-fuck-are-we-getting-out-of-this-one-alive'.

That's how bad things were.

Grunts were being shot as soon as they stepped out of cover, and IMC Pilots seemed to be everywhere at once. Bandit squad could hardly keep up. Any Titans that the Militia had had deployed onto the battlefield had been picked off one-by-one by IMC aircraft and enemy Pilot's Anti-Titan weaponry. Spectres seemed to litter the battlefield, being deployed faster than the Militia could eliminate them.

But Vodnik had seen far worse.

He'd survived bigger odds, and Vlad hoped his luck would hold out. The battle might've been going better if Breaker and Ace were fighting with them on the surface, rather than escorting Barker and Macallan in the sewers, but Vlad knew it had to be that way. If the two men had run into any trouble and been on their own - the whole rebellion stood more than a fair chance of crumbling. At least with John and Jake protecting them, they stood a better chance.

Bringing his focus back to the present, Vlad turned a corner to gun down three Spectre units with his LMG. He tossed a frag grenade into an IMC occupied building as he passed it, then emptied what was left of his weapon's magazine into a couple of Pilot's he found as he ran through a separate building. He crouched next to the flaming remains of an IMC Titan as he reloaded his gun and keyed his radio to the shared Pilot frequency.

Immediately, his comm-unit lit up with multiple M-COR Pilot squads asking for aid and calling out targets, their panicked voices lapping over each other. So he quickly changed channel to contact Bish and Sarah directly.

"How much longer do we have to hold out?! We're taking too many casualties!" Vodnik demanded.

"Shouldn't be long, boss." Bish replied. "We've already had confirmation that Macallan and your boys have made contact with our extraction crew, but they've yet to board the shuttle to get out of there."

"Good, I will prepare evacuation procedures, get Bandit to fall back. How long until my Titan can drop?"

Bish hummed in thought.

"Drop crews report he'll be ready in just over a minute. Vodnik, there's something you should know. It's Jake, he's-"

The radio suddenly fizzled out, and the line went dead. Vodnik smacked the side of his helmet to try and command the technology back to life.

He cursed in Russian, only to hear a loud boom, like a huge amount of pressure had suddenly been released in the sky. Vodnik looked up, only to see a piece of the heavens shift and contort, the empty space suddenly replaced by a warping ship.

An IMC super-carrier.

The _IMS Sentinel_.

Massive didn't even begin to describe it. Word had it that there were only three active in the Frontier at any given time. Two would always be guarding Demeter, the IMC's fortified factory planet. The enormous ships, at least a mile long and half as wide, were kitted out with state-of-the-art weaponry and as much hull armour as the IMC could afford. Cannons, turrets and missile-pods covered its surface. Huge broadside flak cannons were already spinning up, chewing through the armour of the Militia's carriers, under-prepared for the weapon of mass destruction in every sense of the word.

The _Sentinel's_ first target, a Militia heavy cruiser – the MCS _Event Horizon_ \- was compromised within twenty seconds, and the ship was racked with explosions as it slowly fell from the sky to the ground far below. The ship's ion-reactor soon overloaded, a huge detonation booming as it hit the ground.

Vodnik's jaw nearly dropped, and he turned his radio on again, knowing the super-carrier's low-orbit warp jump had been the cause of the interference.

"Get everyone out! Now! Everyone, fall back. That's an order!" He bellowed into the channel, not caring about responses or replies.

Vlad quickly signalled for his Titan, and the lumbering machine fell through the sky and landed in front of him within seconds.

As an Ogre, Lenin was practically unstoppable. Vlad and the machine had been through countless operations together, and always got out alive as a team.

" _Welcome back, Vladimir. I count seven IMC Titans within a radius of one mile converging on our position. Please proceed to the nearest evacuation point."_

"No. We stay and we fight them, Lenin. We must buy survivors time to evacuate!" Vlad replied.

" _Recognised, prepare for battle."_

The first two IMC Titans never knew what hit them. Both were Stryder's. Fast, but easily broken. Once Vodnik's Ogre got a grip on one, he brought the smaller Titans down onto Lenin's knee, effectively breaking them in two, like dry twigs.

The next Titan to face him was an Atlas, the jack-of-all-trades mech. It's paint-job wasn't like the others. Streaks of blue and purple over the grey and white standards, as well as an emblem and the name of the Pilot's squad - 'Hazard'. Manoeuvrable, it packed a punch at all ranges. It was tough, and the Pilot definitely knew what they were doing.

But so did Vlad, and after he'd fired the entire magazine of his X0-15 chain-gun into the machine's gut, it and the Pilot inside were little more than paste.

 _"Attention, multiple enemy contacts approaching. Vlad, we are outnumbered; four-to-one."_ Lenin informed him.

"That is a shame." Vodnik gritted his teeth, as his Titan reloaded its rifle. "But we have never turned down a challenge, eh, Lenin?"

Vlad charged as the first of the four Titans approached, screaming Russian curses the entire time.

 **VIIIIIV**

Their shuttle rocked and shook as the ripples of the massive warship's warp jump subsided. Bish massaged his temples as a head-ache began to form. Sarah stumbled over, a small piece of metal embedded in her arm. She didn't seem to notice, and the pudgy Asian man looked up to her bruised face as she neared him.

" _Shit!"_ Bish cursed, eyebrows pressed together and fingers flying over his keyboard.

"What was that?" Sarah asked as she ran toward the hacker, pressing her body over his shoulder to get a look at his monitor.

She noticed the shard of metal sticking of her arm, and she pulled the object out, too high on adrenaline to notice the pain yet.

"It's a super-carrier." Bish replied, aghast. "The IMC - they jumped in the _Sentinel_."

Sarah was speechless, all the blood drained from her face. All their intel had told them that all three super-carriers were stationed above Demeter. The _Sentinel_ shouldn't have been there.

"But..." She sputtered.

Bish didn't reply, instead inputting commands into his keyboard as fast as he could.

"We need everyone out of there. _Now_." Bish suggested.

"Agreed." Sarah held up a headset microphone to her mouth.

"You're patched in, go for it."

"All personnel; fall back. This isn't the fight we bargained for, I'm sending down evac shuttles. Leave, _now_." Sarah spoke clearly into the microphone, relaying the message to all Militia members. She patted Bish on the shoulder. "Divert all Hornet fighter jets to target the _Sentinel's_ aft thrusters. We need to cover our escape."

"Already on it." Bish told her. "Vodnik's diverting IMC Titans, but the _Sentinel_ just dropped another few Titan's on the city's perimeter. Too many to count. They need to leave, and fast."

 **VIIIIV**

 _Keep moving. Don't stop. Just run. Just escape._

He leapt from the rooftops, from wall to wall at break-neck speed. He'd left his weapon behind a few minutes ago, his sidearm now his only protection. But the revolver wouldn't do much against the several IMC pursuers that shadowed his every move.

Desmond risked a look back at the thought of his pursuers, then immediately wished he hadn't.

 _Pilots_.

Three of them, hunting him down. Like dogs chasing a fox.

He'd managed to put a small gap between himself and them, and his limbs burned for his efforts. Desmond grunted hard as he hit another sheer wall, his feet finding purchase on the vertical surface.

The Militia Pilot squeezed every last ounce of speed out of his jump-kit, and he could tell the technology was failing. The jets sputtered and wheezed with every ignition. Militia tech had never been the most reliable, but Desmond prayed to whatever gods there were and every deity that had ever been that his jump-kit would hold out until he reached safety. A small distance away, he could see the first of the many evacuation drop-ships the Militia were sending down to the city to exfil their soldiers.

Desmond clenched his jaw and adjusted his course to head towards the incoming shuttles that would take him back to the _Sparrow_ or another allied star-ship. Grunts and Pilots were running as fast as their legs would carry them towards the promise of safe harbour.

A bullet pinged of the wall he was running on, and Desmond flinched leaping away from the surface and onto a different path. IMC were everywhere, and the appearance of the Sentinel had only made them bolder. They swarmed like wasps, their morale sky-high because of the super-carrier. They held no fear in their hearts now that they held the upper-hand. The Militia were simply lucky that they were only here to extract Barker, and not take over the city.

The drop ships were making ready to leave. Their doors were sliding shut and their engines were spinning up to leave. IMC anti-air ordnance missing them by smaller and smaller margins each time they were stationary for more than a moment. Desmond groaned as his jump-kit sputtered and failed, barely holding itself together. Desmond knew the tech would only be good for one last jump, after that it would only weigh him down. He was so close. Only seventy metres at the most, so near to his salvation.

Desmond had to time this perfectly, or he'd be left behind, left to the 'mercy' of the IMC. With a bellowing shout, Spectre leapt from the edge of the wall and propelled himself towards the waiting aircraft, already pulling away from the ground. He triggered his jump-pack, and the device shot out a last burst of speed. That, coupled with his own momentum, Desmond was launched into the blood-bay of the shuttle, slamming into the far wall with a loud thud. His jump-kit groaned and clicked, sparks flying from the device.

Desmond just lay there on the deck of the ship, Grunts and Pilots alike staring at him in disbelief. The aircraft pulled away and into the cloudscape as Lockett pulled off his helmet, his sweat-covered face cracking into a wide grin as he laughed at his good fortune.

 _"Cut that a bit too close, didn't you, Desmond..."_ He whispered to himself.

 **VIIIIIV**

Vodnik panted hard as he buried his Ogre's fist into the last of the three Titan's cockpit, crushing the Pilot inside. A mercifully quick death for the IMC soldier. It had been one of the hardest fights he'd had in a while.

Lenin was practically falling apart because of it. Most of the armour plating on the Ogre's right side was removed, exposing critical systems within, and the rest was on fire or compromised.

"We're all onboard the evac shuttles, boss, time for you to leave." Vlad heard Golsan report in his earpiece.

"Roger that." Vlad replied as he commanded Lenin towards the extraction zone. "I'm on my way."

"We'll be waiting. Make it quick, though, yeah?" Palmer laughed.

"That's no way to talk to a superior officer, Golsan." He chuckled, rounding a corner of a high rise to see the waiting dropship at the fair end of the street.

"Damn, you're in pretty shape, old man." Castillo commented, watching Lenin turn the corner from the safety of the shuttle.

"I've been in much wors-"

A massive Titan fist slammed into Lenin's left side, shattering the kinetic shields that kept the armour safe.

 _"Alert, IMC Titan detected. Ogre class."_ Lenin reported, turning to face the new adversary.

"Yeah." Vodnik grunted as he shook off his dazed state. "I detected that too."

Vlad quickly glanced at his Titan weapon ammo count, grunting in annoyance when the HUD displayed a 'zero'. Zuyev swore in Russian, and roared a challenge as the IMC Ogre swung another strike his way. Lenin blocked it with a forearm, but internal computers were already beeping to represent the damage every blow from the other Titan dealt to him.

 _"Recommendation; eject."_ The Titan urged.

"No!" Vodnik challenged, swinging his Titan's rifle around to act as a blunt clubbing weapon. "We fight."

Vodnik launched a punch toward his adversary, but the weakened blows of his mech couldn't match the earth-shattering punched of his enemy.

"Moving to support!" He heard one of his squad members shout. "Anti-Titan weapon ready, awaiting instruction to fire."

Vodnik just grit his teeth and tussled with the other Ogre, hiring as hard as he could, but he was fighting out of desperation, no tactics or structure to his style and the other Pilot knew it. The IMC bided his time, only striking when Vlad was exposed. Soon, everything was blaring at him. Alarms were going off, alerting him to his 'doomed' state.

In this case, one good strike from the other Ogre would crush him, and Vlad watched as the other Titan plunged its hand into his cockpit, wrapping its giant fingers around his body, and ripping his from Lenin, who fell into a wrecked heap on the street.

The Ogre regarded him for a moment, then opened his embark doors, giving Vlad a look at the Pilot who had bested him.

"You're the one who lured away my friend, aren't you?" The man asked. "You're the one who convinced Jake to desert."

Vodnik felt a pressure begin to build as the man clutched him tighter, and he heard bones in his ribs crack as the other man began to crush him. How did he know who Jake was?

"When you see him in Hell, tell Jake that David sends his regards."

"FIRING!"

Vodnik felt himself blacking out just as a rocket slammed into the Ogre's side, making him lose his grip on Vlad. The Russian man was caught by Desmond, covered by Castillo's Archer rockets, brought Vodnik onto the ship.

"Go, go, go!" Desmond urged the shuttle pilot as he gripped Vodnik's hand with his own.

Desmond removed Vlad's helmet and was treated to the sight of his squad leader, battered and bruised. His face was bloody and his eyes were dim. Vodnik pulled Desmond close so he could whisper into Lockett's ear.

"You... must lead them... now..." Vlad whispered.

Then his hand went limp and Vodnik's body went slack on the floor of the shuttle as they took off into the atmosphere.

"Get us back to the Sparrow! _Now!_ "

 **VIIIIIV**

Jake groaned quietly as he slowly emerged from the depths of unconsciousness. His eyes were screwed shut with the pain and aching that enveloped his entire body, a deep throbbing pain flared up in the side of his head, making him feel nauseous and dizzy. Jake slowly opened his eyes, his blue orbs attempting to look around. He attempted to stand, or at least sit up, but a sudden massive pain in his chest made itself present very quickly.

Jake looked down at the source of his pain and saw a large scar across the centre of his chest – almost like a skin graft. His eyes widened as he recalled what had happened. He remembered it all – the mission to get Barker, the Spectres, diving to save John, the hole in his chest and then John running to catch his fall.

Then, nothing.

Where was he? How was he alive? And what had happened to the others?

He began thrashing, and his heart-rate must have gone up, because the machine next to him started beeping faster, and soon a doctor ran into the room, immediately trying to calm Jake down.

"Stop! It's okay, you're safe." He assured Jake. "Calm down, you're okay."

Jake panted, hard. His lungs burned and his heart throbbed in excruciating pain.

"I shouldn't be alive." Jake whispered to himself. "How am I-"

"To be honest, your squad-mate did most of the work. He deserves your thanks. If he hadn't applied his medical field supplies to the wound? Well, let's just say we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Jake shook his head in confusion.

"You mean..." Jake looked up to the man, "...you mean, _John_ saved _me_?"

"He kept you from dying, I suppose."

"But... how am I still alive?"

"Deep tissue body-scanning," The medical officer told Jake. His voice had a rough texture to it, like the rumble of machinery.

"Uh, I'm sorry. I don't know what-"

"We took a sample of your skin cells and then cloned them at an exponential rate. One skin graft later, as well as a pacemaker and a few other things, and hey-presto, you're right as rain."

Jake patted the scars on his torso with a tentative hand, wincing at the pain.

"Is it...?"

"Don't worry, it's completely safe." The medical officer frowned in thought. "Well, _mostly_."

" _Mostly?"_ Jake asked apprehensively.

"Side effects of tissue cloning have been... documented," He admitted. "But only in a very small amount of cases - less than two percent."

"What _kind_ of side effects?" Jake pressed, suddenly feeling nauseous.

"Memory loss, synaesthesia, and occasionally… additional _appendage_ growths." The doctor confessed.

"So I could forget my own name, start smelling purple and have an extra _hand_ sprout from my stomach?" Jake almost shouted.

The doctor smiled sheepishly. "Like I said; only two percent, but I'm sure you'll be fine."

"Well, thank you for everything, doctor." Jake smiled at him. "But I need to go to my team, I'm sure they need me."

"Hm, I'm not sure you're fit and able to leave the medical wing just yet, Mr. Lincoln." The doctor stroked hi beard thoughtfully. "But I suppose you'll just insist on leaving and will probably sneak out without my permission, even if I say no."

Jake chuckled, then gripped his chest in pain.

"So, yes, you can go." The doctor nodded. "But you can't leave the ship for a few days, and I want you to take painkillers and anti-enphentimes shots every three hours. Got that?"

Jake nodded, knowing it was the best offer he was going to get from the man.

"Got it."

"I don't want you walking around either. You'll only make it worse. I'll have one of the nurses bring out a wheelchair for you. It's not electic, so I hope you're in good shape."

"Considering I just had a hole blown through my ribcage, I'm pretty fucking far above 'good shape', Doc." Jake laughed.

The medical officer grinned.

"Nurse Oxton will escort you to your barracks; you'll be on your own from there." The doctor told him as a small lady with short blonde hair walked in, a wheelchair pushed in front of her.

Jake grunted as he stood from the bed and embarked the wheelchair.

"Don't you know, doctor?" Jake told him as the nurse wheeled him away. "I'm a Pilot, I'm never alone."

 **VIIIIIV**

Oxton wheeled Jake all the way to the entrance of Bandit's barracks, then stopped just shy of the door. Lincoln turned as far as his chest pain would allow him to look at the woman. Her face was sullen, her eyes held sadness.

Jake's face creased in sympathy.

"What's wrong?" He asked. "Something I said? I know I'm kind of chatty, but-"

"It's nothing, sir." She replied.

"Hey, it's alright. I'm not going to bite your head off, you know." Jake told her, not mentioning how strange it was to be called 'sir'.

"It's not for me to say, but..."

Jake waited for her to elaborate, but she just tapped the console next to the door, and the panel separating the corridor from the room shot up into the wall. She then hastily turned away and left Jake there, wondering what she'd meant.

Jake looked from the retreating form on the nurse to his squad's barracks. The room was gloomy, bathed in darkness. He could make out four distinct shapes moving around within. Most were sitting on beds, but one was pacing up and down the length of the room.

When the pacing shape came closer to the door, Jake could make out the fair features and shapely body of his friend; Desmond. Of course, the other Pilot had seen Jake by this point and slowly looked his chair-bound form up and down.

"You're lucky to be alive, Breaker tells me." Desmond said, extending a had as Jake wheeled into the room.

"Must've used up about three of my nine lives at this point." Jake smiled as he took the extended hand and shook it firmly. "I thought you'd be in the bar. We got Barker, didn't we?"

Desmond's face fell, the silence in the room suddenly made itself clear. The penny dropped for Jake as he looked around at the defeated faces of Castillo, Golsan and Breaker.

"Where's Vlad?"

Desmond's eyes fell to the floor, and his words caught in his throat as he tried to respond.

"Jake, something's happened." Desmond replied, his tone low and words heavy. "Vodnik, erm, got into a fight with the IMC while we were evacuating. His Titan went up against seven IMC Titans."

Jake whistled a high note in disbelief.

"And?" Jake urged.

"Let's just say; he bit off a bit more than even he could chew, you know?"

Jake's eyes went wide, and his stomach dropped.

"Is he...?"

"No, he's not dead."

"But he might as well be..." Castillo whispered from his gloomy corner of the room.

" _Alan!_ " Golsan hissed, hushing the sarcasm of the other Pilot.

But Jake's eyes never left Desmond, who didn't turn to the two arguing Pilots, or even raise his voice in warning.

"He's in a coma." Lockett revealed. "Doctors don't know when he'll wake up."

"Did he say anything?" Jake asked, wondering if the Russian man had given any last orders to Bandit.

"No, he only had enough time to make me leader, before he-" Desmond started.

" _Temporary_ leader." Golsan uttered, almost seeming to correct his team-mate.

Desmond turned around to glare at him, then jabbed a finger at the other man.

"Got something to say, _Palmer_?" Desmond asked in a bitter tone. "Maybe you want to explain why our squad leader is in a coma, or how he's made _me_ boss until he wakes up?"

Golsan stood to face him, teeth bared and stance prepared for a brawl.

"Oh, I will. Just as soon as you explain why you're so much more qualified to be our leader than any one of us!" Golsan pointed an angry finger at Jake. "Even the fucking IMC Pilot would be a better leader than your sorry arse!"

Jake looked to his chair-bound form in shame. Even after all he'd done – killed an IMC colonel, turned his back on his mentor, even saved John's life – he was still just an IMC Pilot in Palmer's, and maybe some of the other Pilots, perspectives.

Desmond was about to retort when Breaker stood and marched over to Golsan.

"You can shut the fuck up." John muttered in a low, barely-controlled tone. "Jake saved my life, and I'll owe him that until I die or until I can make it even. He's one of us, and at the moment, Golsan – he does seem to be more suited to be leader than you."

Golsan rounded on John.

"How dare y-"

"Maybe if you got your damn temper under control and talked to us like the fucking adult you are, then _maybe_ we'd think of you as something more than a squad-mate!"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Jake bellowed, immediately drawing the attention of every Pilot in the room.

What followed was absolute pin-drop silence, save for Castillo's quiet, insane chuckles as he sharpened Rosita. Jake looked from each man to the next, Desmond and Breaker held his steely gaze, but Golsan couldn't meet his eyes.

"I have sacrificed _everything_ , and I mean everything, when I defected." Jake continued in a much quieter and sombre tone. "I hoped I'd prove that I was loyal to the cause, and that you'd see me as more than an ex-IMC Pilot. Vodnik's not here, but we are, and we have to honour what might be his dying wish. Do you _really_ think that Vlad would want us squabbling amongst each other as soon as he's gone? Do you think he would want us to be better than that? _I do._ " Jake nodded to Desmond, who returned the small gesture. "So, for now, until Desmond steps down or until Vodnik wakes back up, _he's_ our leader. Got that?"

Murmurs of confirmation and recognition echoed through each of them. Jake stared at the four other men, a strange sense of satisfaction swelling within his chest.

There was a soft rapping of knuckles on their door, and Jake span his wheelchair around to face the entry-way as the door slid away to reveal a slender young man, who looked very pale and undeniably nervous to be under the scrutiny of Bandit. Jake silently wondered how much of the conversation the young man had heard as the intruder opened his mouth to speak.

"Sorry to disturb your... discussion, Pilots, but Commander Briggs is requesting your presence in the war-room."

"All of us?" Desmond asked, clearly asking the question to try and cement his place as the squad leader. After all, if someone else asked, it would look bad on him.

"Y-yes, sir." The man squeaked before power-walking away from their barracks.

Desmond nodded to his squad and they all filed out of the room, one by one. As Breaker went by, he patted Jake on the shoulder, making Lincoln wonder if he was thanking him for saving his life earlier. Golsan didn't make a sound, but met Jake's gaze as he wandered past. Castillo just chuckled.

"You ought to think about being a public-speaker. Seems you like to make pretty speeches and the like, eh?" He grinned toothily.

Jake just hummed to himself, dismissing the comment. Desmond was last to leave before Jake.

"Thanks for backing me up back there."

"I'm sure you could've handled it."

"That makes one of us, at least." Desmond muttered as he left.

Jake sighed as he wheeled after them, shutting off the lights to the barracks as he went after the rest of his team.

 **VIIIIIV**

Sarah looked from Bish to the Pilots standing nearby; all of them wore defeated looks on their faces. Macallan was silent, and Ace didn't offer a word of consolation or comfort. Things had never been worse for the Militia. They'd lost so many, too many, for so little gain – to retrieve _one person_ , on the word of an old man that the drunken pilot was worth the effort. They'd sacrificed some of their best and brightest for nothing more than the sake of a flimsy hope.

A pyrrhic victory, if ever there was one.

Sarah gripped her wounded arm tighter, hot flares of pain shooting up to her brain. She hoped that the aching would blind her to their losses, make her forget about what had happened today. Her hand clamped down on her wounds even tighter than before, her iron-grip making her wince. Sarah began to feel the warm blood seep from between her fingers and soak into her clothes.

But she didn't care.

Ever since the _Red-Eye_ had been destroyed, the Militia had been on the back foot, beaten and battered by the IMC at every turn, with only minor victories, but at a high cost.

 _Always_ too high...

Sarah was so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she didn't see Jake was sitting next to her in his wheelchair until he spoke, his words quiet and his voice sounded as defeated as Sarah felt.

"What do we do now?" He asked; his voice as quiet as a whisper in the night.

Lincoln voiced the question that was on all their minds, on the tip of all of their tongues; _what now?_ Was there anything to be done? Maybe this loss was too large to come back from.

Briggs was silent for a long moment; she hadn't the first idea on how to reply to such a simple, yet complex, question. What was the plan? What was their next move? How could they carry on?

"Now that we've got Barker, we're a step ahead of the IMC. We can't give up. The enemy will be weakened, but not for long." She replied, her commanding tone forced, she was too sombre to think about anything but the casualties they'd suffered. "We need a plan."

The rest of Bandit Squad looked from one to another, eyes low and faces ashen. They'd lost one of their own. Their squad leader was all but gone. That was always hard to overcome, but with the overwhelming losses that only ever seemed to grow beyond their control, it was difficult to not think of this war as futile, their defeat; inevitable.

Jake shifted his stare from the floor to Sarah's eyes, his own burning into hers with an untold regret. And for the first time, Sarah thought she could see who the man really was, beneath all of the crummy jokes and nervous half-smiles, there was something solid about him, something constant. Her lips parted to speak, but she couldn't say anything, not with his intense gaze upon her.

Briggs wasn't one to falter under scrutiny, but something about Jake at that moment made her very aware of herself. She looked away from his eyes; and let out a small breath that she hadn't realised she'd been holding. She cleared her throat as a way of attempting to refocus. She turned to Desmond, Bandit's leader until Vodnik woke up from his coma.

"Have Bandit Squad's roster refilled. Cycle in a new Pilot, if you like. I'll need you at full strength if we're going to face the IMC soon." She spoke in a low voice.

"I'll work something out, see if we can get a Pilot from one of the dissolved Squad's into Bandit, but we'd be lucky to be up to 'full strength' any time soon." Desmond responded.

Jake spoke up then, hands fiddling with the grips on his wheels, rocking him back and forth.

"You didn't answer my question, Sarah."

Sarah rounded on him, an angry glare aimed at Lincoln's own intense stare.

"You want to know if we're losing, Ace?" Sarah scowled.

Jake didn't say a word, or even flinch under her anger. But after a few moments of staring at her, he turned, gesturing to his Squad to leave. Slowly, they collected themselves and made their way out of the room, leaving Jake behind.

Sarah and Jake were alone now, with only Macallan and Bish present in the room. Lincoln made a move to follow his squad, but stopped and looked over his shoulder in Sarah's direction, his eyes focused on the floor once more.

"I know we're losing, Commander." He told her. "I just want to know if we've _lost_."

Sarah sighed as Lincoln wheeled out of the room after his Squad.

She looked over to Bish and Macallan, the former was tinkering with a small device, probably trying to hack it to bend it to his will. The latter was scratching his beard in thought.

"What've you got, Mac?" Sarah asked, hoping the older man would have some idea for their next move.

"Well, if we're ever going to make any _real_ progress on booting the IMC from the Frontier, we're going to have to take out Demeter." He opened, voicing the fact that the three of them already knew. "But we'll need to draw away the blockade around the planet, or at least weaken it, if we're going to even have a chance at victory."

"And how do you propose we do that?" Bish asked.

"Well, a good distraction never fails; it helped us get Barker, after all."

"So, you want to instigate some kind of proxy threat?" Sarah asked. "Who could pose that kind of danger to the IMC, make them draw off an entire fleet and leave Demeter defenceless?"

"Not 'who', Sarah, 'what'." Mac replied stoically.

"You've lost me."

"Okay, okay. So, the IMC warships can't stay above Demeter forever, right? They've go to refuel and re-arm every now and again, and there's a distant moon around Demeter that they use to do just that. They call it 'Airbase Sierra'."

"The Three Towers?" Bish asked in surprise, referencing the three dog-whistle sonic emitters that surrounded the airbase to fend off the local wildlife that would trample the base if the defences weren't in place.

"Bingo. And if we find some way to turn them off? The IMC will come running to protect their refuelling station. Gives us a window of opportunity."

"But how would we 'turn off' their towers? We don't know the security codes or the firewalls. Hell, I don't even know what encryption module they use to defend it from hackers like me." Bish replied in an exasperated tone.

"Do you think they just came up with that predator-repellent signal out of their asses? No, they had to do some rigorous testing before they set up shop at the airbase. Some planet called 'Leviathan', that's where they tested the towers. There'll still be some prototypes there, if we can find them."

" _Leviathan?_ " Sarah said, incredulous. "That place is practically a myth. It was wiped off every star-chart and navigation system years ago. No-one remembers how to get there."

"Why do you think we went to all the trouble of getting Barker out of Angel City?" Macallan asked rhetorically. "The man owns a moonshine business, and there's a massive black-market in that system. And I happen to know that he keeps his stash on the very planet we're looking for."

"You're joking." Bish replied, deadpan.

"Not at all. I say we give Barker a couple days to sober up, then he should be more than happy to tell us where Leviathan is. You get your codes, we use them on the Three Towers, the Demeter fleet rushes to protect the airbase, and we swoop in and eliminate Demeter before the IMC know what's going on."

There was a long moment of silence in the room before anyone spoke. The gears were turning in Bish and Sarah's heads, searching for any flaw in the plan. Sure, it was a long-shot, and it would mean the end of the Militia if it went to shit, but if they succeeded? The IMC would be on the defensive for once.

"Okay. But while Barker's sobering up, what are we going to do about the _Sentinel_? And what are we going to do about restocking our troop numbers? Volunteers just aren't enough anymore."

"Leave the recruitment to me and Bandit; you take out the _Sentinel_ while it's being repaired. Those Hornet fighter craft sure got a few good licks in; the ship'll be vulnerable while she's docked."

Sarah pored over it for a moment, briefly wondering what Vlad would say if he were in the room. But, of course, she already knew he'd be up for the crazy plan.

"Let's do it."


	11. Chapter X - Times Like These

The Brotherhood of Battle

Chapter X – Times Like These

 _Three weeks later..._

Lincoln's Logbook:

 _I don't really know what to report. I know we're meant to use these for 'official purposes' only or some bollocks like that, but there's no point. Nothing's happened in weeks. The Militia are hunting for any sign of the IMS Sentinel, hoping to discover its location and take it out for good._

 _Well, that's what the_ rest _of the Militia is doing._

 _The_ Sparrow _, on the other hand, is looking for a way to recruit more bodies. We're going planet to planet, and Macallan usually goes down to various colonies on each, contacting sympathetic groups or allied factions – asking them whether or not they're ready to volunteer in the 'fight to rid the Frontier of the IMC'._

 _Yeah, right._

 _More likely they'll become the next wave of cannon-fodder in the next minor battle for some worthless piece of land or outpost, while we Pilots do the real work._

 _Vodnik hasn't gotten any better. I go to the med-bay sometimes to visit him, but there's only so much you can take before it feels like you're talking to yourself – rather than what might as well be a corpse. I hope he wakes up soon though; the guys seem to be falling apart at the seams without him._

 _Desmond's drinking himself to death most nights – days too, now. Leading a group as tough as Bandit will take its toll on just about anyone - but commanding a group of bloodthirsty, violence-prone and reckless Pilots? That's a whole different story..._

 _Breaker and Golsan are spending a lot of time together, and with their Operating Systems. I hope they're okay. John's been looking at me funny, so I assume I've earned his trust. Bet he never thought an ex-IMC like me would take a bullet for him. I think he's looking for a way to repay me, but I don't know what he's planning._

 _I don't really know about Castillo, he's an enigma, to say the least. I'm worried about him though. He's been having bad dreams lately. He screams in his sleep, sobs too sometimes. Desmond told me to leave it be, but something has to be done. I want to talk to him about his nightmares, but I doubt he'd tell me anything. More likely, he'll just gut me with that damn machete of his. But it's a risk I'll have to take sooner or later._

"Hey, Jake." A voice called out from the door of the barracks. "Seen Desmond anywhere?"

Lincoln turned, recognising Golsan standing in the entry expectantly.

"Not all day. Have you checked the ' _Corsair'_?" Jake asked, rubbing his face to wipe the sleepiness from his features.

"No, besides I'm just heading to the gym." Palmer replied. "Can you check for me?"

Jake gestured to his logbook. "I'm kind of in the middle of something."

"I'm sure your princess diary can wait. After all, nothing's happened in weeks. What's there to report, anyway?"

Jake sighed as he closed the journal, admitting defeat.

"Fine." Jake told Palmer as the other man smiled in triumph, making to walk away. "Hang on."

Golsan stopped and raised an eyebrow, waiting for an inevitable elaboration. "What?"

"I want to try out your grappling hook." Jake demanded.

Golsan's eyes fell, an uncertain look crossing his face as he braced his shoulder against the doorframe.

"Why?"

Jake shrugged nonchalantly. "Why not?"

"Because you don't know how to _use it_?" Golsan immediately countered. "Because it's my favourite thing in the Universe? Because it's my baby; and if you damaged it in any way I'd be liable to murder you in your sleep?" His feathers clearly ruffled.

"I _did_ save John's life..." Jake suggested.

"...and then you literally got a hole blown through your chest – so John had to save your life immediately after? You mean _that_?"

"Well, I-"

"The answer's a _'no'_ , Jake. Sorry." Golsan seemed genuinely apologetic for a moment, then hardened his face, returning to his usual self. "Now, go find Desmond for me, would ya?"

And with that, he left.

Jake sat there for a long moment, listening to the near-silence of the ship. The hubbub of activity could be heard, echoing down the halls from somewhere faraway. The low thrumming of the _Sparrow_ 's ion-engines and warp drive sent small vibrations through the grating on the floor and into Jake's boots if he sat very still.

Eventually, he sighed, rolling his neck as he stood from the creaking chair, earning a few clicks between his tired joints as a reward. Pulling on a thin jacket, Jake wandered out of Bandit's barracks and began the all-too-familiar walk towards the _'Corsair'_.

 **VIIIIIV**

The tip of the blade plunged into his bare chest again, etching another mark onto the tally he kept on his body – the people he'd killed, the friends he'd lost, the years he'd lost in this futile war. A record of every mistake he'd made. The blood dribbled from the wounds. Seven more strokes since the battle that had almost claimed Vodnik and Ace. Seven strokes representing the Pilots Alan had murdered, or the men he could've saved if he'd intervened or done something just a little different.

Whilst he etched, Alan pressed the play button on the holo-message again. He had to hear her voice, to escape the guilt...

" _Hi, daddy!"_ The sweet sound of her voice pouring out of the speakers. Alan couldn't bear to look at the video, and only just had enough strength to listen to the audio. He just kept cutting his flesh instead, hoping the pain would block the 'Other' out – but he already knew it couldn't.

' _ **You let her down. It's your fault that caused it to happen.'**_

" _Mommy and me miss you every day, but we know you're helping people – so that makes it okay."_

' _ **Let it go, you murderer."**_

" _I didn't want you to forget about me while you're away, so I'll send you these videos every day, okay? But you have to promise, okay, Daddy? Promise you'll come home. Mommy cries sometimes, and she says that you're not coming home, but I know that's not true."_

' _ **You can't forgive yourself, can you, Alan? You're pathetic. You disgust me, you make everyone else hate you because you can't let go.'**_

" _I think Mommy's wrong, because I know that if I believe, you'll be home soon. So I'll be a good girl, just like you made me promise. I'll do it for you, Daddy!"_

' _ **And you call yourself a man?'**_

" _But... it's been a long time, Daddy. It's been two years. And I miss you - so much."_ Alan could hear her voice cracking with emotion, and tears welled in his eyes. _"I love you, Daddy. I want you to come home. I'd do anything to get a hug from you, but I can't hug you from across the stars, can I?"_

"No, baby, you can't..." Alan replied, knowing he couldn't do anything but listen to the tape.

' _ **Why don't you just do the Universe a favour and kill yourself, Alan? It would sure as hell make**_ **her** _ **life better – wouldn't you agree?'**_

" _So that means you'll have to come home, then you'll get a big hug from me, and a big kiss from Mommy. Bye, Daddy. Talk tomorrow!"_

The recording ended, the image of her innocent little face plastered onto his screen. The silence of the room engulfed him, wrapping its shadowy tendrils around him like a chilly draft in an otherwise warm room. He felt the first tear trace down his face, just like it always would. He repeated the mantra the 'Other' had taught to him so long ago, hoping it would give him strength, but knowing it would do nothing but make him feel even emptier.

"The blade... _sang_ to me. Faintly, so soft against my ears, its whispering voice calmed the battle in my mind and assured me that one simple stroke of its deadly edge would take it all away. All the _pain_ , the terror, and the evil." He blew out the words as he stroked the edge of the long knife, caressing it like one would touch a lover. "It told me that I all I had to do - just slide one long horizontal cut, and make a clean slice. It whispered to me, the words that I had been begging to hear for so long; _this_ will make it all better, make it okay. It _promised_ me." Castillo spoke in a low voice, gripping the knife handle with white-knuckle rage, shaking with the tension in his arm. "It _lied_."

 **VIIIIIV**

As Jake wandered into the bar, a familiar stench filled his nostrils, and he had to resist the urge to gag and he waved away the scents of bad beer, cigarette smoke, puke and desperation. Jake cleared his thoughts, shook his head to focus, and looked around the dark, crowded room for any sign of his new Squad Leader.

Ace wandered from place to place, shuffling between bar patrons in the dimly lit bar before settling his sights on Desmond, who sat alone in a dark corner of a booth. Clearly, the other drinkers of the bar clearly knew to give the Pilot a wide berth, a drunken Pilot at that. Jake turned back towards the bar surface and leaned his elbows on it.

The bartender looked over and approached warily, seeing the Pilot emblem on Jake's jacket sleeve.

"What'll it be?" The burly man asked as he rubbed the rim of a glass clean with a grubby dishcloth. Jake thought for a brief moment before answering.

"Palavian whiskey, neat. And another one of whatever he's drinking." Jake thumbed in Desmond's direction. The bartender looked over to the drunk Pilot sitting in the booth, alone.

"Coming right up." He responded.

As the man produced two glasses from somewhere behind his bar, Jake took the opportunity to ask him some questions.

"What's wrong with him?" He asked, wondering what the bartender thought of Desmond.

"Usually I'd pin it on losing a squad-mate or a bad break-up, if it were a regular soldier." He started as he poured liquid into the glasses from various containers. "But you never know with Pilots. They never mourn, far as I know, so if they're drinking themselves to oblivion – something _must_ be wrong."

Jake nodded, deep in thought. Something was definitely wrong, and the bartender was right to not judge Desmond. After a few moments, the man handed Jake the two glasses, now brimming with pungent alcohol and nodded.

"On the house, Pilot."

Jake just hummed as he picked up his liquor and made his way over to Spectre, sitting down in the booth with a heavy sigh.

"There you are. Looking for the meaning of life?" Jake offered as he sat down at the booth, drinks in hand. He pushed one towards Desmond, sitting opposite to him, nursing his fifth drink of the evening.

"At the bottom of a bottle?" The rather drunk Pilot raised an eyebrow.

"You wouldn't be the first to try." Jake smiled. Desmond offered a weak smirk, sighing deeply.

"No, Jake. I'm not here for anything so..." Desmond searched for the right word, "... _existential_."

"Then, why?" Jake asked, trying to gently coax the answer out of his friend.

"What, I can't kick back? Have fun?" Desmond spat out, the stink of liquor heavy on his words. Jake almost wrinkled his nose in response, but managed to hold back his instinctive reaction, shrugging instead.

"Relax." Jake held up a hand in defence. "I didn't mean any offense. It's just..."

"Just _what_?" Desmond spat out, a venomous tone in his voice.

"You don't look like you're having much fun." Lincoln told him.

Desmond sighed in response, knowing the truth in Jake's words.

"After I was rescued from an IMC invasion on my childhood colony, I grew up among the scum of the Tyremius System, learning to be a Pilot. All of those mercenaries and contract-killers, and you'd think I'd know how to _drink_." A dejected expression deepened itself onto Desmond's features.

"What's this really about? You're nervous that Vodnik asked you to lead us?"

Desmond shook his head in response. An incredibly long moment went by before the other Pilot said anything.

"It's not that, it's just... is it _worth it_ , Jake?" Desmond asked him, a soft sadness glistening over his eyes, dulled by the smell of the tobacco and alcohol that hung over the patrons of the bar like a pestilence. "Everything we've worked to achieve? It seems pointless."

"I wonder about it myself sometimes." Jake confessed. "I sacrificed everything when I deserted the IMC. I had friends, a future and the 'honour' to be counted among some of the military's finest."

"Do you regret it?" Spectre asked, an eyebrow rose up his forehead; though he continued to stare at his drink regardless.

"Defecting? No." Jake shook his head. "I couldn't stay, even if I wanted to be with my friends and brothers-in-arms. The IMC was just an excuse to bully Frontier settlers. Terrify them into submission, and beat them and burn their homes if they stepped out of line."

"Petty scare tactics." Desmond affirmed Jake's explanation.

"Exactly." Jake nodded, tipping the top of his drink slightly in agreement, which he quickly took a swig of to help along the haze that was beginning to cloud his vision. " _That's_ why we can't give up the fight, Des. If we do, what's the alternative?" Jake asked him.

When no answer came from the other Pilot, he took in a deep breath and repeated the mantra Vodnik had given him after he'd returned Spades to Jake, right before the Battle of Angel City.

" _Poka yest' zhizn'; yest' nadezhda."_ Jake muttered. The words caught Desmond's attention though, and his eyes rose to meet Lincoln's.

"What does that-"

" _While there's life; there's hope._ " Jake translated for him. They sat in silence for a solid minute, listening to the raucous laughter and drunken rows of the night life of the bar. Jake finished his drink and left a couple of credits on the table for the tip.

"For what it's worth? I think you've got this. Vodnik picked the right person to succeed him."

"I'm not so sure..." Desmond whispered, almost so Jake didn't hear the words, but Lincoln didn't press him.

"See you later, Spectre." Jake muttered as he left him alone in his booth, walking out of the door into the depths of the _Sparrow_.

 **VIIIIIV**

He couldn't stop seeing it; the moment he'd failed his squad leader, the instant where Vodnik had almost died. Golsan tried to block it out, tried to concentrate on anything else, but he couldn't – no matter how much he struggled. He could only think about the IMC Ogre plunging its massive fist into Lenin's chest, ripping Vlad from the cockpit in one swift motion, like a voodoo priest wrenching the beating heart from a screaming, begging victim.

He struck the heavy punching bag again, the worn leather protesting under every angry blow that Palmer threw at it. He'd always done this, rather than confide in another person or consulting a therapist; Golsan would bottle up his rage and frustration or sorrow and pain, then let it loose on something else, usually a wall of breakable piece of furniture. But he'd discovered that punching bags were far more satisfying to assault – almost as satisfying as beating up an IMC Pilot.

While his mind raced, his body was in a trance, thumping the bag – again and again and again. His thoughts lingered on seeing Vlad being torn from the seat of his Titan, hearing him scream in pain as the Ogre's fist gripped his body and squeezed – _slowly_. He remembered waiting helplessly as Spectre rushed to Vodnik and rescued him from death, listening in anguish as Vodnik whispered what could be his last request into the team frequency.

 _Thud!_

The punching bag tore, the spot where Golsan had mercilessly assaulted ripped open, hissing as sand poured from the wound in the leather. Golsan was snapped away from his memory as he watched the sand trickle into a quickly forming pile on the floor.

" _Shit..._ " He muttered.

Palmer looked around the gym, panting and matted with sweat. The accident had drawn the attention of other men and women in the room, but no one spoke or reprimanded him in any way other than a few wary stares before they returned to their respective activities.

 _Because I'm a Pilot,_ Palmer thought, _they're too scared to ask what's wrong with me..._

Golsan returned his gaze to the still-leaking bag, its relentless pouring reduced to an uncontrolled dribble. He sighed, his breathing back to normal, although his chest still heaved with fatigue.

" _Damnit..._ " He whispered to himself, as he unwrapped the boxing tape from his hands, lifting the bag off of its hook to place it in the corner of the room.

A marshal approached Golsan with a mildly annoyed look on his features. He opened his mouth to speak, but Golsan just handed him a fistful of credits. The man nodded slowly in understanding, probably thankful that he wouldn't have to argue about damages with the reproachable Pilot.

"For a replacement." Golsan explained as the marshal pocketed the credits. "Sorry about the mess."

With that, he turned and left the gym, heading for the showers, then Bandit's barracks, ready for a long sleep before some sim-pod training.

 **VIIIIIV**

John Breaker sat on a crude stool, sharpening a trio of throwing knives, weighing them. On the other side of the room was a basic dartboard, the wall around it was awash with marks where his knives had missed their target. Hundreds of marks etched into the board and the wall, making John wonder just how long he'd been doing this to blow off steam.

Early twenty-first century rock music played on the micro-speaker he'd installed in the corner of the room. The thudding of the drums, the balls-to-the-wall guitar solos and the often angsty lyrics of the lead singers always managed to cheer him up, or relieve stress. Sometimes both, if he was lucky.

He threw one of the knives at the concentric circles on the board, hitting the target, but too far right. John rolled his neck as he readied the second of his blades. As he threw it, his earpiece chimed, letting him know that his Titan OS wished to talk to him. After letting the knife slam into the board, he pushed a button on his earpiece, and the familiar deadpan tones of his A.I. rang in his ear.

" _Good evening, Pilot."_ The crisp tone of the female voice sounded clear, yet emotionless.

"Hey, Rose." He replied, taking a few preliminary movements before attempting a throw.

" _Do you believe that knife-throwing capabilities will apply to the broader responsibilities you undertake on your missions?"_ She asked.

"Probably not, but I like it anyway." He replied.

" _This unit does not understand. If it has no immediate applicable benefit, then what is the point of honing this skill?"_

Breaker sighed heavily. "Just, how do I say this? Don't think about it, okay? It's just something I like doing, I guess."

" _Very well."_ Rose conceded, almost seeming to give up on the discussion. _"This unit would like to ask you a favour, Pilot."_

Breaker stayed silent for a moment as he threw his last knife at the dartboard. He chuckled a little.

"I'm pretty sure I've told you all of the good ones, Rose." Breaker smiled as he walked over to the target board, wrenching he knives out of the wood. John inspected the blades as he walked back to where he'd been throwing from.

" _This unit doubts the credibility of your statement. Even if you have no more 'good ones', telling this unit stories of your past will still increase overall combat effectiveness."_

John shrugged. "True enough. Okay, you want to hear a story?"

" _Affirmative._ " She replied in a clipped fashion.

"Well, this one's all the way back from the Pilot Training Programs I went through a few years ago. There were about twelve of us in our group, and after three months of training, only four of us were left standing." John sighed, throwing a knife at the board. "But I remember, before the group dropped down into single digits. You see, an important thing to understand about any branch of the military, any night in infantry barracks is just another crazy story. That goes double for Pilots."

Breaker aimed at the board briefly before throwing another knife, his aim was improving - little by little.

"We once had a guy shoot some indigenous wildlife with a bow on base, which technically wasn't allowed, but who's gonna tell a bunch of rowdy Pilots-in-training what not to do, right? So, the guy brings it back to the barracks. Then, what do you know; a bunch of very drunk Pilots proceeded to skin it in one of the showers and we all end up running around with different body parts and rubbing blood on our faces like some kind of drunken sacrifice. I don't know – it was weird, now that I think about it." John chuckled despite himself.

" _Why would you do such a thing, Pilot?"_ Rose asked him.

"Why not? It was a Wednesday after all..." He countered as he threw the third knife; it landed dead-centre of the target with a dull thud.

 **VIIIIIV**

" _Please_..." The man, his face beaten and bloody, begged. "No more... I can't..."

His assailant simply ignored the plea, hurling another punch into the side of his face. Then another, and another. A brief moment of respite was all the man received, but it was enough time to lean over in his bound position and spit a bloody wad of saliva onto the floor of the dimly-lit room. He knew what this was, but the beaten man didn't want to give his attacker the benefit of truly knowing how much pain he was in.

The third person in the room spoke once more, asking the same questions they'd been asking for the last few hours.

"We're going to try this again, Corporal. And I hope you'll see reason. Answer my questions, and this'll all be over. Understood?" They asked. The man didn't reply, simply opting to stare at the interrogator with his most spiteful stare - a difficult feat to pull off, seeing as one of his eyelids had bloated to block almost all of his vision from his left eye.

Another punch to his jaw urged him to answer the question.

"Understood..." He muttered.

"Good." The interrogator replied from the corner of the room. Despite the ringing in his ears, the corporal could hear them scribbling notes onto a piece of paper. "First question; what is your name?"

"You already kno-" A punch cut off the rest of his sentence. The torturer actually grunting with the effort of the throw. The chair restraining the corporal toppling over with the force of the blow. The man coughed and felt a dribble of blood spill from his lips onto the cold floor of the interrogation room.

After a moment, he was picked up again, and the chair was put back into place. The corporal hung his head low; he barely had enough energy to speak.

"Just answer the damn questions." The man who had been throwing the punches warned him.

"Or what - you'll kill me? I doubt it." The corporal replied, his answer dripping with spite.

"You shouldn't." The person who had been asking the questions spoke up, a woman, her tone soft but lacking any care for the man who was so close to death. "You realise you're not as vital to us as you would believe? There are others with the information you have, I'm sure. You're expendable, Corporal."

The beaten man lifted his head look at the two interrogators, barely able to make out anything but their shape in the dim light of the room. He swallowed nervously.

"I'll ask you one more time, and if you fail to answer my questions with _anything_ but the truth, then I'd be happy to kill you in the most disturbing ways you couldn't even comprehend."

The corporal just nodded in understanding.

"Good." The woman continued. "Now, what is your name?"

The man sighed in defeat. "Corporal Kade Camden."

"And do you know who I am, Kade?" She asked.

Camden shook his head.

"You'll have to speak up, Corporal."

"You're _scum_." He replied venomously.

The man who'd been throwing the punches for the last two hours went to strike again, but the woman stopped him.

"And what makes you say that?" She asked.

"I _know_ what you are, where you allegiance lies." Kade responded. "You and the rest of your people, you think you own the Frontier. You're wrong. You're intruding on what should be a prosperous region of space."

"You 'soldiers', you're all the same." She replied. "You don't see the big picture, just your next target – the next planet to pillage and raid."

"We wouldn't have to if you and the rest of your kind just surrendered."

The woman sighed. "We didn't ask for this war. You came here and started this conflict – and for what?" Kade was silent. " _Well?_ "

"Because this is _our_ Frontier. We were here first."

"Maybe. But we aren't here to discuss who's right and who's wrong." She responded. The woman walked out of the shadows and bent down in front of the beaten man, her brown eyes looking into his. The brown and green of her uniform clashing against his dirty white IMC jumpsuit.

"Now, I want you to tell me what you know about the Demeter installation." Sarah Briggs asked, waiting for his reply.


	12. Chapter XI - Striking Back

The Brotherhood of Battle

Chapter XI – Striking Back

Brief flashes of intense orange hues. Explosions, screaming, voices shouting orders. Gunfire. Bullets were flying everywhere. Jake's team lying dead at his feet, IMC Spectres and Titans everywhere. And standing above it all, overseeing the wanton destruction and the needless death – a lone IMC Pilot, standing on a mountain on Militia corpses.

David Turner; Jake's mentor from his time with the IMC.

Lincoln awoke with a gasp, his chest heaving as his breath came in rapid bursts. He felt a cold sweat coating his bare skin, spread all over his body, drenching his thin bed-sheets in his perspiration. Jake's eyes darted all around the room, and he bolted to sit upright. A few moments went by as his breathing evened out, steadily returning to normal. Jake pulled his palms up to his eyes, rubbing the sleep from his blurry vision.

The images that plagued his sleep haunted his dreams. He couldn't understand much of it, just brief bursts, like somebody had taken a picture of what he was seeing and then spilt ink over most of the photo, obscuring nearly every detail - save for a limited _precious_ few.

"Bloody hell..." He whispered beneath his breath as he looked around. The room was pitch-black and he could make out the snoring of his comrades elsewhere in the confines of their barracks. Jake swivelled his position, his legs hanging off the side of the mattress he slept on.

Jake knew he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. He was too scared to, for one thing. His head ached and the room swirled as Jake stood up. So the whiskey he'd drank with Desmond hadn't worn off just yet...

No reason to stop then.

Lincoln stood and wandered over to the footlocker at the bottom of a spare bed. It had been unanimously decided by all members of Bandit that they'd keep something strong in there at all times so that they could celebrate or wallow for whatever reason they wanted. Jake would think of one later.

He grabbed a bottle of half-depleted tequila and walked out of the room. He didn't need a change of clothes; Jake had forgotten to take off his slacks when he'd gone to bed a few hours ago anyway. The bright strip lights on the ceiling of the corridor made Jake squint for a few moments but he quickly got his bearings and started making his way towards the Titan Drop Bay. If nothing else, he could at least go there to wonder about when Spades would be green-lighted for a chassis of his own.

Waiting for one to become available had gotten to be more than a little annoying at this point.

Jake was halfway to his destination and had taken a few sips of his bottle of tequila by the time he wandered past a couple of Grunts on night-time patrol duty. He leant against a wall and waited for them to pass. The pair of soldiers didn't pay him any mind, just continued with their conversation as if he wasn't even there. Clearly, they were in the middle of some kind of debate.

"Nah, man. That's not what I'm saying." One of them started. "We've already pushed our luck too much. It's only a matter of time now, you know."

The other Grunt shook his head. "Since when did you become so cynical?" The other retorted. "Our Pilots could win a ground engagement against the IMC on any day, you know that."

"But what about our ships? Pilots can't exactly knock those out of the sky, I don't care how big their Titans are. The IMC has every conceivable advantage when it comes to naval battles." The first man lamented.

"Okay, I suppose you're right. But what're we supposed to do? We don't have the man-power to raid a shipyard – it's too risky."

"Maybe. But I'm sure we could capture one if we found it out in the open, on its own. On a patrol, or something?"

" _Riiight_." One of them commented. "And they'd probably just _hand us_ the fucking keys to the damn thing too, right?"

"Shut up, Gage." A Grunt growled, the other just laughed.

"It's not up to us. We don't get paid enough to worry about that stuff anyway. I think Bish, Barker and some engineers are talking about it now."

"Shit, really?"

"Yeah, in the conference room. Why?" The first Grunt, Gage, spoke.

The other Grunt shrugged. "Great minds think alike, I suppose."

They both laughed at that and continued on their way. Jake remained standing against the wall on the corridor. He wondered if Bish and Barker had come up with any ideas to capture some ships to reinforce the Militia's navy. Jake even wondered if it was possible to take over the Argonaut, the ship he served on whilst enlisted to the IMC, before his turncoat defection to the Militia. He took a long swig from the bottle of golden brown liquid he held in his right hand.

Lincoln shrugged. Fuck it. He was awake now, so he might as well join the fun being had in the conference room, throw his proverbial hat into the ring.

Why not? He wasn't even _that_ drunk...

 **VIIIIIV**

"That doesn't solve our problem, Macallan." Bish sighed, rubbing his tired eyes with two fingers. "This plan of yours to take out Demeter has already cost the Militia _far_ too much in the way of precious resources and ships."

"It'll be worth it, Cheng." Macallan tried to reassure him. "If Barker takes us to Leviathan, we can get the data on the and-"

"And what is that going to cost us, Mac?" Bish retorted. "Or the mission after that? And the operations we do next? I'm sorry, but Sarah wouldn't allow it. She cares too much about the lives of our people."

Macallan stepped back to lean against a wall, rubbing the back of his neck with one of his hands. He shrugged, out of ideas.

"So what do we do?" Sprocket asked, looking from Bish to Barker, neither of them replying. Clearly, no one had any brilliant ideas on what they could do next.

"Ain't that the question of the day?" Someone spoke from the entrance of the room.

The other four men looked from each other to the new voice, curious to see who had interrupted their brainstorm.

"Evenin', lads." Jake burped. He held up a finger as he took another swig of tequila from the bottle, a tingle on his tongue letting him know the alcohol was working its magic. He leant against the arch of the doorway, waiting for the familiar buzz to reach his stomach.

"Jake." Bish started. "You're here to pitch in an idea?"

"Maybe." Jake shrugged. "It depends."

"On what?" Macallan questioned.

"If we go through with it, I'll be in charge of the operation." Jake informed them.

Bish cast a wary gaze to Macallan and Sprocket. "You'd have to tell us what you've got in mind first."

"If that's what you want." Jake chuckled, producing a tac-pad from one of his pockets, handing it to Bish. "It's called the _'Argonaut'_. It's an IMC heavy-cruiser, carrying enough raw materials to arm a whole battalion. Not to mention the drop-ships, heavy ordinance and Titans they have on-board."

Sprocket shrugged. "Maybe, but the _Argonaut_? Why that ship in particular?"

"I used to serve on it before I defected; I know the thing inside and out. It's a bit older than their other carriers; back when the hulls were made from Tentratium. Nowadays, the stuff is either too depleted or too expensive to create entire ships from, so the IMC reverted back to standard-issue Duranium that most ships are made out of today."

Bish whistled a long note. "Tentratium? You're sure?"

"As sure as I'm standing in this room." Jake nodded.

"What's so special about it?" Barker asked.

"It's rare." Macallan explained. "At least, nowadays, it is. And tough too. Three times denser than what carriers are made of at the moment. The _Odyssey_ was made out of the same stuff." Macallan shrugged. "Maybe seventy or eighty ships were made from Tentratium before it got too expensive to keep on producing them – looks like the _Argonaut_ is one of them."

The tac-pad Jake had handed Bish contained all of the knowledge he possessed about the _Argonaut_ ; defence systems, navigational charts, shipping manifestos and a set of blueprints mapping out the key areas of the ship."

As Macallan, Sprocket and Bish looked over the information; Barker hummed a tuneless song to himself as he swayed back and forth to some rhythm in his head.

"I've got a question." Jake spoke up once a minute or so had gone by.

"What is it?" Macallan asked.

"Why is he still here?" Jake nodded at Barker. "How is this drunkard is going to be of _any_ help to us if we attempt to take the _Argonaut_?" Jake asked with a raised eyebrow.

"You're one to talk." Barker turned towards Jake with a cold stare and pointed a wavy finger at him accusingly. He wobbled towards the ex-IMC Pilot and grinned, one eye half-shut and the other barely able to focus on Jake. Barker snatched the half-finished bottle of tequila from Jake's hand and put it to his lips, half of the remaining golden-brown liquid disappeared down Barker's throat in a matter of moments.

"Who..." Barker slurred, "...are you... calling _drunk_? Huh?" He managed to spit out, wobbling from side to side as he said it. Barker's eyes were puffy and his breath stank of alcohol. Jake wrinkled his nose at the almost overwhelming stench of the liquor he gripped onto like it was a fire-arm.

"Who do you _think_?" Jake replied, a hint of venom in his tone. Lincoln cast a look to the other Militia assembled in the room. "What's so special about this guy anyway?"

"Believe me, kid; I'm much more than a serious talent for drinking games. I'm probably the best damn pilot you'll ever meet. Not like you _Pilots_ , with the big 'p'." Barker chuckled at the innuendo. "I fly ships, not parade around in some glorified robot."

"You're shitting me, aren't you?" Jake asked. But Barker just shook his head.

"I'm the _best_... of the best, kiddo. What can I say?" He grinned sheepishly. "I take great joy in striking at the IMC _whenever_ and _however_ I can. I've stolen Dreadnoughts on my own with nothing but a rusty screwdriver and a few well-placed C4 charges. I blew up an IMC training facility with _lots_ of bad people inside. And on top of all that, I even run my own moonshine business." Barker slurred. "I'm really _very_ impressive, if I do say so myself."

Lincoln began to feel a serious urge to punch this man in the face just to stop his ceaseless prattling and arrogance.

"You may think I'm an arrogant bastard, but that's only because I'm better than you." He chuckled. Jake felt himself clench his jaw, his teeth grinding against each other in an attempt to bite back a retort. The man's constant ego stroking was really starting to get on his nerves.

"But I hear you're shit-hot at walking upright, so... you know, _well done you_. You should be _very_ proud." Barker grinned, prodding Jake's chest a little too hard with his fore finger.

"Be that as it may," Jake grunted in annoyance as he rubbed the newly sore area on his chest, "You didn't answer my question. How are you going to help us get our hands on the _Argonaut_?"

Bish stepped forward from the railing he'd been leaning on, holding his tac-pad in his left hand, showing the status of the ship and vital information about their plan to take the _Argonaut_.

"We'll need his expertise to warp in next to the _Argonaut_ once it's been located. He knows how to get the slip-space generator to put us next to the target with pin-point accuracy; we'll be within metres of the damn thing – but only if he's behind the controls." Bish explained, allowing Barker to grin smugly in Jake's direction, who simply rolled his eyes in response.

"Problem is; our little _Sparrow's_ a lightly armoured battle-cruiser, basically a scouting vessel - with some muscle if it gets into a pinch. We don't have anything close to the firepower or the hull strength to take on a ship like the _Argonaut_."

"So we weaken it somehow, incapacitate it." Jake suggested.

"Well, _duh_..." Barker whispered under his breath, just loud enough for Jake to hear, who ground his teeth in annoyance, but said nothing else.

"I've actually got an idea for that." Bish spoke up again, placing his own tac-pad on the nearest table, which sprang up a blue hologram into the air above it. It represented some kind of improvised explosive device to Jake, but much bigger. "It's why I wanted you here, Sprocket; we need you to build it."

"Well, damn." Max stared at the hologram, awestruck. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Depends, what do you want it to be?" Bish smirked.

"Well, it _looks_ like an industrial-grade electro-magnetic pulse generator. But..."

"Bigger?" Jake suggested.

" _Way_ bigger, the size of a damn fridge." Sprocket nodded.

"Can you build it?" Bish asked. "Sarah's counting on us."

"You know who you're talking to, right? Nigel and I can make this thing a reality in a day, maybe two." Sprocket laughed. Bish nodded.

"Then get to it." The Asian man replied.

"One question though; EMP devices, no matter how big, won't work outside of a ship like the Argonaut. The shields will deflect it like a bug on a windscreen."

"So what are we going to do?" Jake finished, understanding the issue.

Bish just smiled. "We'll just sneak it on-board."

Jake raised an eyebrow. "And how do you propose we do that, hmm? Ask nicely?"

"In a way." Bish shrugged.

Barker sniggered. "The IMC aren't idiots; I don't think they'll just let it inside the ship, even if we put a pretty bow-tie on it."

"Shut up, Barker." Jake tutted, turning to Bish. "So, what are we going to do?"

"We've still got that IMC dropship you guys stole when you went after Ubento, right?" Bish asked in return.

Jake raised a quizzical eyebrow. "The Goblin? Yeah, why?"

"Because they're going to invite us in." Bish smiled. "Here's my idea..."

 **VIIIIIV**

 _ **A few hours later...**_

 **VIIIIIV**

"Set your scanners to decrypt any IMC transmissions, keyword; _'Argonaut'_. Notify me when you find some available information, I'm going for a shower." He turned the computers into sleep mode and began to walk towards the door. A thought crossed his mind suddenly, and Jake added. "Oh! By the way, Spades, remind me to patch my jump-pack's dash thrusters into the secondary firing column. I've been meaning to get that sorted." Jake asked the machine, intent on walking away to his quarters.

 _"Attention; information available."_ Spades announced. Jake turned on his heel, clapping his hands together in delight.

"Bloody hell, that was fast. Let's hear it then." Jake held out his hands expectantly.

 _"You must patch the dash thrusters through the seconda-"_ Spades began.

"N-no, no. No, Spades." Jake cut him off, sputtering. He almost chuckled at the machine's naivety. "Not... not _now_. Later." He turned again.

 _"When?"_ Spades asked.

"I don't know, just pick a time." Jake told him, exasperated.

 _"When?"_ It repeated, like an irritating child asking for clear instruction.

"It doesn't matter. Just... _later_." He slapped his forehead and blew out a weary breath through his lips.

A moment went by, and Spades was silent.

 _"When?"_

"Uh, I don't know. Just pick a number! Extrapolate it to match a set time in the near future, say, within the next few hours? Notify me when you meet that time." Jake explained in a way the A.I. would be able to comprehend. The blue lights on the computer Spades was installed into flickered slightly.

 _"Understood."_

Jake looked at Spades for a long time, raising an eyebrow. An entire minute of pin-drop silence went by. When nothing happened, Jake smiled in victory and marched to the door.

 _"Information available."_ Spades announced. Jake almost screamed in frustration.

"I told you, pick-"

 _"You misunderstand, Jake, I have discovered an encrypted IMC transmission matching your parameters; we should give this to Militia technicians at the earliest opportunity. It is marked as a Priority Three broadcast. It contains information relevant to the location of the_ 'Argonaut'. _The ship is transporting two-hundred and thirty-six Militia POW's to a permanent holding facility._ "

Jake stood there, motionless. Dead silent. He could almost feel the machine judging him.

"Oh." Jake whispered. "Well, then..." Jake gave the camera attached to Spades' system a thumbs-up. "Good job." Lincoln simply said, offering a guilty smirk.

VIIIIIV

 _ **Three days later...**_

VIIIIIV

The abject blackness of the vacuum of space. Oblivion to some, an unmissable opportunity of potential wealth for others. For many different people, it was many different things, but to the twenty men and women on board the stolen IMC dropship; it was a trap, waiting to be sprung. For now, though, it was empty.

But for Jake, it was boring.

Twelve hours. That's how long they'd been waiting so far. The distress beacon specifically coded by Bish to be intercepted by the _Argonaut's_ sensors had so far gone unanswered - but clearly not unheard. A few long-range transmissions from an IMC carrier had been received, but no one on board the dropship had answered, afraid that the IMC would ask questions they wouldn't know the answers to. It had been unanimously decided that leaving the comms alone was best, for fear of alerting the _Argonaut_ , and subsequently losing it to suspicion and a conflict of interest.

So, they waited.

Twenty Pilots, sitting or standing into the cramped drop-bay at the rear end of the ship. All chosen from the most elite of those available at such short notice on board the _Sparrow_. Jake, Golsan and Breaker had been the only ones approved for the mission out of the six men in Bandit.

Vodnik was unavailable for obvious reasons, and Desmond was classed as unfit for duty due to his recent drinking. Castillo had declined going on the mission altogether for reasons unknown.

It bothered Lincoln that their team was only at half strength, but the abundance of other Militia Pilots more than made up for it. All of them were veterans, each with dozens of missions and hundreds of hours of experience between them.

Jake looked from Pilot to Pilot, wondering if any of them had defected from the IMC as he had. Renouncing the ways of tyranny and totalitarianism, exchanging them for freedom fighting and battling for the sovereignty of the Frontier.

Ace's eyes drifted up to EMP device mag-locked to the ceiling of the drop bay. Of course, he and the rest of the Pilots knew what it was, but to any uninformed observer, it appeared to be just another piece of technology that the drop-ship needed to function - albeit a rather large piece, about the size of a fridge.

Jake sighed, and laid his head against the metal wall of the ship, bored to death of waiting. He looked out of the port-side window, hoping to see some sign of the carrier they'd spent so many days planning for.

Suddenly, the space outside of the ship bent and distorted in ways Jake thought wasn't possible. He instantly stood and looked around at the Pilots assembled nearby, some unaware of the imminent slip-space arrival.

"Brace!" Jake called out, and within a moment all the soldiers reached for one of the straps attached to the ceiling.

In the next few seconds, a rift seemed to tear itself open in the folds of the black pits of space between stars. A shockwave shook the small ship, heralding the arrival of the assault carrier, which easily dwarfed their comparatively insignificant drop-ship. As soon as the shaking subsided, Jake peeked out of the window. A smile crept onto his face - the _Argonaut_ had finally arrived. Alone.

At last.

"Alright, everybody!" Jake turned to the assembled men and women on board the ship. "Oxygen masks on! If this goes sideways, you'll need them. When we get on board, the device will be activated. We'll have a matter of minutes to get where we need to be in the chaos. The IMC's first priorities will be the generators and life support. We need to deny them the latter - if we control that, we control the ship!"

A Pilot stepped toward Jake. A name was blazed across their helmet; 'Matthews'.

"I'll take a team of six to the life support systems; it'll be as good as ours." He assured Jake.

Lincoln nodded. "Take at least nine. They won't give it up easily. Spare as many non-infantry as you can. We're here for the ship, not for some vendetta."

"Yes, sir." Matthews responded.

Jake was surprised to be treated so officially, but he wasn't about to complain. "Two of you will come with me to capture the bridge, and whoever's left will get to the brig. Free as many Militia personnel as you can manage, arm them too. It'll draw the IMC's attention and make our jobs a lot easier. We all clear?"

 _"Oo-rah!"_ The all chanted.

"Good, maintain radio silence from now on. Arm the EMP, and engage your cloaking devices." Jake concluded as he made his way to the cockpit.

By now, the _Argonaut_ had slowed to a stop, and Jake felt his stomach doing backflips knowing the assault carrier's missile pods were probably aimed squarely at them. One wrong move, one fault in the plan - he and nineteen other M-COR Pilots would be lost to the IMC. An incoming transmission beeped on the dashboard of the shuttle. Jake sat down in the cockpit and pressed a button, allowing open communications between the two ships.

" _Unidentified IMC dropship, your distress signal was picked up by this vessel at twenty-one hundred hours. We are here to assist. Please identify."_ The unmistakable voice of Ship Captain Richards blared out of the speakers.

Jake left the request unanswered. A moment went by. It was paramount that the IMC fell for this ploy. They had to let the dropship on board to make the EMP effective in any way.

 _"I say again; unidentified vessel, this is Captain Richards, with the IMS '_ Argonaut _'. Identify yourself."_

This time it was a demand. Jake exhaled nervously, but still did not answer. He could tell that a few Pilots were staring at him, their gazes burned into the back of his helmet.

 _"Unidentified drop-ship, this is your last warning. Identify, or be met with force."_ Richards growled. Jake twitched nervously in his seat. He hoped that the Captain would have to consider the fact that the drop-ship's communication relay might be out of operation. _"Give us some sign that you are receiving us, drop-ship."_ Richards said, suspicion clear in his tone.

Jake flicked a switch up and down on the dashboard multiple times, activating the fog-lights on the front of the ship. A tense moment went by, Jake wondered if they'd accept it as a sign of conformity, or whether their suspicions would get the better of them and the ship would be blown to bits.

 _"Solid copy, dropship."_ Richards replied. _"Can you manoeuvre to the Argonaut's hangar?"_

Jake flashed the lights again. He activated the engines, propelling the ship towards the carrier's starboard hangar. Everyone aboard knew that there would undoubtedly be a welcoming party awaiting them as soon as they touched down. But it wouldn't matter. Jake had no plans to get out of the ship until he was told to.

The plan had been very specific about what was to happen next. Jake had dressed in his old IMC gear especially for the occasion. It would help the IMC onboard the _Argonaut_ to drop their guard, granting the other Militia Pilots the element of surprise.

Not that the EMP wouldn't be able to give them the same effect all by itself.

As Jake approached the hangar, he felt the pull of a tractor beam locking him in place, giving the IMC complete control over the drop-ships navigation systems while they were in range. Slowly but surely they were manoeuvred into the hangar, right where the IMC wanted them.

Incidentally, it was also exactly where the M-COR wanted to be too.

The landing gear extended, and the vehicle hit the floor with a deep ' _thunk'_. Jake heard the heavy footfalls of dozens of pairs of boots and the clamour of activity outside of the drop-ship as he made his way to the rear end of the small ship. By now, all present Pilots had engaged their cloaking devices, completely hidden from view.

Invisible - unless you knew what to look for.

Slowly, the ramp lowered, steadily revealing more and more of the hangar. It also revealed at least thirty IMC Grunts armed with carbines and shotguns, all trained directly on him. Jake raised his hands in surrender.

"Okay, Pilot." One of the men at the bottom of the ramp hollered to Jake. "Come down to us, _slowly_. And no funny business. Nod if you understand."

Jake nodded slowly. He walked down the ramp without any sudden moves, his hands raised the entire time.

"Evenin', lads." Jake greeted.

"You mind telling me what you were doing on a drop-ship all alone in the middle of nowhere?" The Grunt who'd called up to him asked.

"What do you think?"

"The Militia?" One of the troopers asked Jake.

"Bingo." Jake pointed a finger at the soldier who had spoken. Jake was lying through his teeth, feeding them the story the Pilots had come up with whilst they'd been waiting on the dropship. "Our dreadnought was attacked while we were on a patrol. It happened so fast that all I could do was get into a drop-ship and do an emergency sub-light jump. After that, I just let out a distress call." Jake lied through his teeth, giving the Grunt a warm smile. "I'm just glad you found me when you did."

The Grunt gave him a long look. He put up a hand for the other men to lower their weapons.

"Huh..." He replied. "You said your ship was attacked?"

"That's right. Ambushed." Jake nodded.

"What's the name of the ship?" The Grunt asked. Jake felt his stomach drop.

"Why?"

"The techies will obviously need to log its destruction – and if it was captured, we'll have to get it back."

Jake looked around and glanced to the drop-ship, directing a wink at what appeared to be the empty air inside it. It was a wink that said; 'get ready'.

"It was the _'Hercules'_." Jake nodded, picking the name out of thin air. It sounded like something the IMC would name a ship though. The Grunt went to relay an order, probably calling out Jake's bluff, but Jake butt in first.

"What was _really_ interesting though," he regained the attention of the Grunt Leader, "Was the way they ambushed us. Yeah, we just _let them_ on board, and then they blew up this big bomb..."

"That was stupid of you." Another Grunt laughed, nudging a friend of his next to him.

"Yeah..." Jake grimaced. "I guess so. Mind you, I could say the same thing to you."

"What do you-" The Grunt leader began.

 _"Do it!"_ Jake shouted.

Several things happened in that next moment. Firstly, the EMP device went off, shorting out the electrics of every dependent piece of technology in a ten-mile radius. More than enough to encapsulate the _Argonaut_ in its entirety. The Grunt who'd been speaking to Jake raised his carbine to shoot him, but Lincoln grabbed the barrel of the rifle and yanked it forward, off-setting the soldier and claiming the weapon as his own. He slammed the butt of the gun into the Grunt's right temple in one fluid movement, knocking him unconscious immediately.

The host of cloaked Pilots suddenly became visible as their rifles fired almost in unison, gunning down the IMC welcoming party quickly and effectively. They were all granted swift, painless deaths.

Immediately following the pulse, the _Argonaut_ shuddered and trembled as the engines failed and halted altogether. The filament lights fizzed out, soon replaced by the yellow emergency strip lights, powered by a back-up generator. Jake looked around, as if waiting for something to go wrong. When nothing happened, he made a few fast hand gestures to the other Pilots.

"Matthews, you and your group need to get moving. Capture those life-support systems; we'll have them by the bollocks then." Jake ordered.

Matthews and the assigned Pilots broke out into a sprint, using their jump-packs to make every second count.

"You two, you're with me." Jake pointed at two random Militia Pilots. "We're going to the bridge. Breaker, take the rest of the men and get to the brig."

"Got it, Ace. See you on the other side." John nodded as he and Golsan, as well as a few others, made off for the detention centre. Jake set off too, the last two Pilots following close behind.

He knew what he had to do, and he prayed that he wouldn't run into David on the way there.

 **VIIIIIIV**

Bish watched his tac-pad with intense eyes, scanning the lines of statistics and numbers for what he was looking for. He'd incorporated the schematics of the _Argonaut_ that Jake had given Bish into his technology and had been able to create a live-feed of the on-going status of the _Argonaut._

Suddenly, the feed went dead, it lagged and ground to a halt. It could only mean one thing.

"Confirmed detonation of the device! They did it!" Bish announced.

The bridge crew of the _Sparrow_ cheered. The first step of the plan had been accomplished. But there was still a long way to go, and a lot of opportunities for things to go wrong if the Pilot teams messed up. But Bish knew they could handle themselves, they were Pilots for a reason.

Without missing a beat, Bish turned to Barker, who sat ready at controls of the ship.

"Get us as close as you can, Barker." Cheng ordered. "We'll start releasing boarding parties as soon as possible to support our boys. As soon as they capture the critical areas of the ship, they'll have no choice but to evacuate."

"You got it." Barker called out, punching in a code with a few buttons on a nearby control surface, he slowly pushed a lever forward, and the _Sparrow_ launched into slip-space, stars rushing by them like streaks of white against a black-blue background as the empty void of space rushed by at sub-light speeds.

Just as suddenly as they'd entered slip-space, they emerged again, decelerating to a come to a halt next to the _Argonaut_. The IMC heavy-carrier was twice as large as the Militia star-ship, and Bish looked out of the port-side window, swallowing a lump in his throat as he watched the shadow of the massive ship tower over him.

"Orders, sir?" One of the bridge crew looked over their shoulder to stare at the Asian man.

Macallan spoke up, saving Bish's decorum.

"Deploy all fighter wings; scramble boarding parties Alpha to November. Two squads of marines and one Pilot to each craft." Macallan relayed. "All fighters, target any enemy tangos that make it out of the hangar. Do _not_ fire upon escape craft, I repeat, do _not_ attack escape-pods. We're here for the _Argonaut_ , not for blood."

The bridge crew nodded or spoke their understanding in unison. Barker stood up from his chair, waddling over to Bish with a bottle of moonshine in his hand.

"Right," he slurred, "that's my job done. Good luck handling the rest of this shit-show."

And with that, he wandered off into the recesses of the ship. Bish watched him go, a small sneer etched onto his face.

"Ignore him, that's kind of his style." Macallan told him, snapping Bish's attention back to the matter at hand. "He'll be here if we need him again, trust me."

Bish looked out on the _Argonaut_ , its massive hull dwarfing their comparatively smaller ship. The trap had been sprung; there was no turning back from this now.

"Commence the attack." He ordered.

 **VIIIIIV**

 **Reviews:**

 **Xx13deathsxX**

Really do enjoy bandit squad and all the characters in it. I had been waiting for this story for a while now, I like the internal conflict that Jake has to go through since he is siding with the militia and the fact the world isn't black and white. It was amusing to see the snoring that Desmond did, made him seem more human. Can't wait for the next update.

 **War never is black and white, is it? Something that every person involved in a war has? A** _ **story**_ **, this is Jake's, that's all. I'm sorry my updates have been so sporadic, I lost access to my laptop for a few weeks and the Xmas period set me back too, but hopefully I should be a bit better from now on.**

I sense a halo reach quote :p lol nice use of it though honestly and I can't believe that Desmond became temporary squad leader. Definitely wasn't expecting that, this story is always nice to read especially since a character I suggested is in it :) um if it's not too much to ask if you do decide to kill off Desmond could I tell how I would want him to die?

 **It definitely was a Halo: Reach Easter egg. It's one of my favourite games to be honest with you. Anyway, I can tell you that I'll never kill off a character unless it has important ramifications to the rest of the story. But your idea for his potential death does give me a few good ideas though :]**

 **titanfallpilotarchives**

I'm very happy John got some action. I know he's not too fond of Ace yet but I would appreciate it if in the next chapter you can have Ace save his life or something. I would love to see them get along

 **Well, John definitely saved Jake when he got that hole blown through his chest. If he'd left him in Angel City, he would've been a goner. Hopefully, they'll be better off now they're allies.**

OMFG I love your fucking guts Riley, you played John exactly like I hoped and I can't thank you enough, it means so much to me that you could use him and the fact that you had Jake save his ass that's just icing on the cake. You better keep up the good work and keep this story alive. Kudos man I'll be waiting for chapter 11.

 **I'm doing this for you, man. And everyone else who reads this story. It's just nice to have you review the story every now and again.**

 **Mac Gustah**

I got the Notification, luckily, but exams and stuff took up all my time, so this is the first chance for me to Read it.  
I gotta say I really enjoyed it. Are you insinuating that Vlad stole the Sparrow? Cause that's awesome.  
Sadly, I don't have much time, do the short review Will have to do. I'll write a longer one next time :)

 **I am definitely saying that Vlad had a hand in it, he certainly helped 'liberate' the Sparrow. 'Stole' is such a harsh word, wouldn't you agree?**

So... I'm a bit late to the party, but apparently FanFiction thinks I don't deserve to follow BoB as once again I did not get an alert. Oh well, I'm here now I guess.  
I really enjoyed this chapter (as is usually the case) but I did notice you changed Vlad's Titan to Lenin. I don't mind of course, but could you elaborate on your choice?  
NOOOOO Vlad! I gotta say I really enjoyed that part, although I don't quite understand Vlad didn't eject (not counting the need for a little conversation between Vodnik and his attempted murderer for story's sake). Although if he is to die, covering his friends' retreat and taking out 7 mechs is a worthy way to go.  
The aftermath of the battle was quite interesting, both from a tactical and a personal point of view. The Militia really has to hope they can make the whole Angel City debacle worth it by using Barker's knowledge to their advantage, as well as the apparent impact Vodnik's (near) death has on Bandit squad and apparently quite a few people amongst the crew (including a random nurse).  
The sewer scenes were very well done as well. Got a real sense of impending soon from that. Also more of Jake proving himself to be trust worthy.  
Cheers for now and I am looking forward to the next chapter!

 **I can't elaborate on Vlad's Titan name just yet, but you'll see soon enough :] He didn't eject due to pride, probably. He had it handled. Vlad fought seven Titans and came out on top, if David hadn't surprised him, he would've been fine. As for the Militia feeling the reverberations from Angel City; you know the saying, no sacrifice, no victory.**

 **JORDAN**

CONTINUE THE F******* STORY, MATE!  
EVERYBODY HATES A DEADEND!

 **OKAY! I'LL CONTINUE IT, BUT ONLY BECAUSE YOU TOLD ME TO AND NOT BECUASE I STARTED THIS STORY WITH EVERY INTENTION OF COMPLETING IT, EVEN IF IT DOES TAKE ME A WHILE. Christ, mate. Chill out :]**

 **Gotasegway**

Quick question: When will the next chapter be ready? Just curious, but don't rush! You are doing an amazing job! I love how you describe the characters and their motivations. Keep up the good work! (PS, I f'n love Ace!)  
I'm sorry if there are any grammar mistakes, English isn't my first language :/

 **Like I said before, I am sorry for the inconsistent update schedule, but I am trying to do better. Thank you for your support, it means a lot to me. (P.S. I f'n love Ace too!)**

 **Bladezzkiller99**

Hey dude, getting back on you adding my OC on your story; Thanks! You know you're the first to include him? Granted that entire text-dump I wrote on my Xbox is a little (a whole) bit overwhelming, I'm just mainly happy that you just put him in there, my original backstory be damned. So I'll say the following; Don't worry about it, do what you want with him (and Nigel, thanks for including him as well), and most of all: I'm giving my full consent if you wanna change stuff about either (Or Jayden's, if she's still in there). Bottom line; Thanks for adding them and I'll be looking forward as to this story as you update it.

 **To be honest, Jayden probably won't make it into the story, but I'll try to make Sprocket a recurring character who pops up every few chapters when he's needed. Thanks for giving me your permission.**

Awesome story so far dude! I'm looking forward to the Three towers mission as well as Demeter, just because of all the possibilities that you have in this line of storytelling. Anyway, Love the story still, keep on going strong.

 **I'm looking forward to it as well, it's gonna be one to remember, trust me.**


	13. Chapter XII - The Siege of the Argonaut

The Brotherhood of Battle

Chapter XII – The Siege of the Argonaut

Running. That's all he could focus on for now.

Grey corridors flew by. Klaxons blared. IMC personnel ran to and fro, too confused or too scared to do anything to stop Pilot Matthews and his men. The Lieutenant and the other Pilots following him blew past dozens of ensigns, technicians and marines as they rapidly made their way to the life support section of the ship, meeting any retaliation with swift and ruthless efficiency.

Some IMC soldiers managed to draw their sidearms, but the Militia Pilots blew any resistance away faster than it could be formed. After the first ten or so deaths, the IMC marines understood that they wouldn't win this fight, and dropped their weapons, instead letting the Pilots run past them towards their objective.

It took a while, but the ten Militia Pilots eventually reached the life-support systems. It was a room at the end of a long white corridor. The bulkhead that lead into the room was closed and locked. Matthews could only guess at the amount of IMC Pilots that were on the other side of the reinforced door, just waiting for them to come inside.

"Prep the thermite charges!" Matthews called out. A couple of Pilots zipped forward, placing breaching charges onto the bulkhead, setting them into place.

" _A really big fucking hole; coming right up!"_ A Pilot shouted, before triggering the charge.

Matthews readied his rifle, waiting as the charge detonated, shrapnel and debris sent flying down the corridor. Less than a second had gone by before the first volley of IMC fire came out from the room beyond. Bullets flew everywhere, riddling two Militia Pilots and clipping a third in the shoulder.

"Return fire! Move in!" Matthews bellowed.

"Tossing a frag!" Another shouted. A grenade arced through the air and bounced into the room, after a moment there was a dull boom, and shrapnel ripped the IMC Pilots within.

"Everyone, move inside. Sweep and clear any hostiles." Matthews ordered. "Bartel, cover our six."

The Militia move into the room, a large cylindrical machine in the centre of the room, reinforced and protected by several layers of impact-resistant glass and steel rods. The life support system ran into the ceiling and hummed with a faint energy that made the hairs on Matthews arms stand on end.

He had to focus on the mission.

"Alright, everyone, listen up. Orders are to protect this room at all costs. Gleeson, Lacey, set up barricades and reinforce any weakpoints around the room. McGregor and Diaz, set up Entry Denial Devices on the doors, make sure any breaching enemies have a welcoming party waiting for them. Everyone else, set up your deployable shields and check your ammo count – we're gonna hold out for as long as Jake needs us to Let's move out." Matthews relayed his commands to his men.

"Oo-rah!" They chorused, all of which nodded their affirmations and got on with their tasks as quickly as they could.

Seven people to defend a room as vital as this one; it was going to be tricky. And until the order came for the IMC to abandon ship, they were going to try and retake this area with all they had.

Matthews wasn't about to let that happen. Over his dead body.

 **VIIIIIV**

John Breaker ran at a furious pace down the corridors of the _Argonaut_ , Golsan just behind him, picking off any infantry dumb enough to oppose them on their way to the brig. By now, the alarm had been sounded, and the IMC were coming out in full force, nothing held back. John could tell they wouldn't give up the ship without one hell of a fight, a fight that the Militia planned to give to them – and then some.

It wasn't long before the Pilots arrived at the brig, sealed behind emergency lock-down doors. It was nothing a Data-Knife couldn't hack through, especially since Bish had made some additional encryption-breaking software that shattered IMC electronic locks like a battering ram through glass.

After plunging his Data-Knife into the nearest neuro-outlet, the doors to the prison started to lift. Breaker nodded to the other Pilots with him, and they all engaged their cloaking devices as they infiltrated the brig. Once they were through the door, Breaker was greeted by a long corridor stretched out before him; dozens of cells were set into the walls on either side of the room, perhaps fifty altogether. And every single cell was full to their limit with unarmed Militia soldiers, who sat or stood wherever there was enough room to do so.

Breaker was appalled at seeing so many soldiers crammed into the cells like sardines in a tin. The smell was awful and half of the men and women looked malnourished, sleep-deprived or on the verge on unconsciousness. Every single jailed Militia fighter held the same expression on their face, one of absolute hopelessness. Many had either ignored the sirens or had brushed them off as a drill of some kind.

At the far end of the room, a couple of IMC Grunts seemed to bicker amongst themselves about something, though Breaker couldn't hear what they were saying specifically. Beyond them was a door leading into a smaller room that he could only guess had some kind of controls over the locks of the cells. As long as the Pilots could get past the IMC guards, the imprisoned Militia were as good as free.

Breaker and Golsan drew nearer, time was of the essence, but they would need to be stealthy to get close enough to eliminate the guards quietly. Any gunfire could ricochet and injure a prisoner, and draw unwanted attention from IMC personnel outside of the prison – which was the last thing Breaker needed. As the pair of Pilots got closer to the two Grunts, Breaker could begin to tell what their argument was about.

"We can't stay here, Rav, we need to evacuate soon. The Militia caught us with our pants down, this is a losing fight." One of them seemed to be panicking, urging the other to come with him and leave the _Argonaut_ to its fate.

"No, Frey, I won't disobey my orders. You know we have to stay and guard the prisoners, we can't just up and leave." The other, Rav, replied. This one appeared to be quite uncomfortable at the idea of disobedience.

"But there won't _be_ any prisoners to guard if we're dead."

"I said no, and we can't just leave whilst there are still prisoners to guard. We have a job to do, and we're going to do it."

Golsan and Breaker drew ever closer, slinging their firearms and opting to use their Data-Knives for a close-quarters kill. But they were still too far away – at least twenty feet. They needed to get closer.

"Well... _what if_... we didn't _have_ any Militia to guard? What if they all went missing?"

The second guard, Rav, gave the other a wary look.

"What do you mean? You want us to, what, _free them?"_ He asked, incredulous.

"No. No, of course not." Frey responded, then added. "But what if they all had a little 'accident'?"

' _Oh, no.'_ Breaker thought. They were ten feet away now, and still closing the gap.

"You want us to... what; _shoot them_? All two-hundred? I'm not wasting my ammo on these guys, besides, that's probably against all kinds of human rights laws." Rav retorted.

"Oh, _please_ , these terrorists gave up their rights when they joined the Militia scum. And we aren't going to shoot them, dumbass." Frey jerked a thumb at the room at the far end of the hall. "We're going to _space_ them. The Warden's office is just over there, and you and I both know he has counter-measures installed to prevent prison riots."

"You can't be serious. They're scum, sure, but I'm not going to push a button to jettison them into space!" The other responded, unbelieving of the words coming out of the others mouth. "You know we don't have the authority to do that sort of thing anyway."

"Look. Here's the thing, do you want to die guarding a bunch of good-for-nothing terrorists, or do you want push a button and get the hell off this ship? It's really simple when you break it down, Rav."

The other stayed silent for a long moment, and Breaker worried that he was going to agree to the proposition for a dreadful moment, and all their effort to free these captives would be for nothing. Golsan and Breaker were in spitting distance of guards, barely two feet between them. The moment passed and the Grunt looked over to the entrance of the prison ward. Then his eyes widened and for a sickening moment, John thought he'd been seen.

"Hey, wait a minute." He spoke softly, readying his weapon. "Wasn't that door locked a minute ago?"

Finally, they were close enough, and the two Pilots plunged their knives into the necks of the two Grunts, their hot red blood spurting from the gashes in gory arcs.

Both Militia Pilots stood, disengaging their cloaks and wiped the blood off their weapons. As soon as they appeared from thin-air, a murmur erupted in the tight-packed crowd of imprisoned marines. A few cheered, while others wept with joy.

The other three Pilots who had accompanied Breaker and Golsan stood by the cells, keeping an eye on the entrance, guarding it from potential IMC reinforcements.

Breaker already knew what to do. Jake had given him very clear instructions. He jogged over to the Warden's office and entered, looking around for the controls to the prison cells. Quickly finding a console, John laid his rifle against the terminal, his hands flying over the keyboard as he searched through the system, looking for some kind of master unlock code. He combed through the files, but nothing seemed to work.

He ground his teeth in annoyance as Golsan entered the room to stand next to him.

"Any luck?" The second Pilot asked.

"You know I'm not a techie like Jake or Desmond, alright?" John growled back, turning his head slightly in frustration. "Just... gimme a minute, okay? These things take time."

Golsan rolled his eyes behind his visor, sighing as he did so.

"That's something we don't have, John." He replied, looking around the room for something to distract himself with.

Breaker didn't respond, instead focusing on unlocking the prisoners from their containment. Almost a minute went by, each passing second edging John closer to an outburst of rage.

"Fuck!" He shouted, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. Golsan looked over to the angry Pilot, and wandered over to him.

"Time for 'Plan B'?" He asked.

"Yeah. As Jake would say; bollocks to it." Breaker nodded, pointing the barrel of his rifle at the computer.

He pulled the trigger and unloaded an entire magazine into the terminal. Sparks flew, the keyboard shredded and the hard-drive juddered to a halt and the monitor went dead.

A moment went by as the duo looked out the impact-resistant glass panes that gazed out on the rows of cells holding Militia personnel. There was a loud klaxon and all of the doors suddenly unlocked, mechanical doors sliding open and releasing their prisoners. The two Pilots smiled at each other and left the office, greeting the first few soldiers with nods and hand-shakes. Some threw up while others were just glad to be outside of the confined space and enjoyed it by stretching their arms out to their sides.

"Alright, everyone!" Golsan shouted. "I know you're probably tired, hungry and missing home." They all looked over to him, uncertain expressions on their faces. "But now _you_ have the opportunity to punish those who imprisoned you! Now _you_ have the chance to get back at the IMC and take their ship from them! And who wants a piece of the action?!"

The crowd of Grunts roared their approval and began pouring out of the prison ward, eager to find a weapon and make those responsible for their incarceration pay.

"Let's take this fucking ship!" He roared, urging them onward.

 **VIIIIIV**

A siren blared somewhere on the bridge of the _Sparrow_ , prompting a response from the relevant technician. Bish's attention was briefly diverted from his status check with some operators to the klaxon. He looked over at an ensign, Corporal Moore, who frantically took scans of the IMC ship - the blood drained from his face.

"Sir!" Moore called out. "We have unconfirmed reports of area-specific reactivation on the _Argonaut_!"

Bish looked over at Macallan, who had heard the same announcement.

"The ship's coming back online, Bish." He spelled out. They'd known the effects of the EMP wouldn't last too long, but the IMC had recovered faster than even they had expected.

"Which areas?" Bish directed the question at Moore.

"Engines are still useless, but they're spinning up preliminary navigation procedures anyway. Front-facing Discharge Fusion Cannon is charging up, too." He reported. "Tetryonic Turrets, and heat-seeking Archer Missile Pods!"

"Shit, they're trying to get their weapon systems online." Another technician spoke.

"Don't fire on the _Argonaut_ ; we're trying to board it." Bish ordered. "We won't endanger our men by shooting at the ship - and any damage we cause; we'd just have to repair."

"So what do we do, sir?" Moore asked, looking for direction.

"Helmsman Thatcher, keep the _Sparrow_ orbiting around the _Argonaut_ , try to outmanoeuvre their weapons. Their targeting systems should still be offline, so they'll have to fire their shots manually – they'll be unguided."

"And while you're at it, tell the crew to arm the anti-missile measures. If they manage to get their targeting computers online before we can take over their ship, we'll be a sitting duck." Macallan added.

"Yes, sir." Moore nodded, picking up a radio to communicate their orders to the relevant crew members.

No sooner than the _Sparrow_ had started moving, a torrent of anti-cruise missiles were streaming towards the Militia ship through the emptiness.

"Hard right! Evasive manoeuvres – now!"

 **VIIIIIV**

Jake left the two Militia Pilots who had accompanied him to the bridge on guard duty outside the entrance. As the door slid up into the ceiling, Jake peeked inside the room, gun raised for any danger or threat.

But he found nothing.

No cohort of armed marines ready to gun him down. No elite kill-squad of IMC Pilots reinforcing the room. Just one man, his back to Jake. The figure must've heard the Pilot enter the room, but he didn't turn around to face him.

"You won't win this war, you know. And you'll certainly not take the lives of any more of my men today, you Militia scum." He spoke.

"That's not what I'm here for." Jake responded. "Now, turn around."

The figure stood, motionless. Jake knew the man had heard him; he began to grow agitated knowing he had been purposely ignored. He stayed silent though. Lincoln knew he held all the cards.

"You don't scare me, Jake. You're nothing but a terrorist. And stealing my _ship?_ You're stooping as low as a common space pirate."

"Turn. Around." Jake ordered.

Still, his demand went unacknowledged. Impatient, he fired a round from his carbine into the floor next to the man's feet. The figure didn't even flinch.

"You _really_ want to die with your back to the guy who's going to kill you?" Jake asked him.

The figure sighed, then raised a hand to his face as he turned to regard Jake. Ship Captain Richards inhaled the musky taste of his tobacco cigar as he glared at the Militia Pilot. A long few seconds went by as he held Lincoln's gaze, slowly releasing the wisps of smoke from his mouth as he exhaled.

Jake tightened his grip on his sidearm, feeling a bead of sweat roll down his face. In the end, it was Richards who broke the silent confrontation.

"Pilot Lincoln." He muttered, his tone almost disgusted. "We've missed you."

"Shut up." Jake commanded, keeping his pistol level to the Captains forehead.

"You know how this has to end, Jake." Richards replied, disregarding the ex-IMC's order.

"You're wrong, sir." Jake said, the wavering in stern voice revealing the cracks in his facade. "You have a _choice_ to make. You can order your men to stand down, and evacuate with them, or-"

"You know what my decision will be, Lincoln." Richards responded, anger in his voice. "And I'll not let you take this ship while I'm still breathing."

Jake nodded. He'd known from the start, but he didn't want to neglect the man a chance to leave in peace. After all, everyone knows that a good Captain goes down with his ship.

"That's what separates you and I, Jake; _loyalty_ , even to the end." The IMC sighed deeply, as if silently wishing that things could've been different. "If only Tapley could see you now, Jake." Richards told him, his uniform neat and his stance defiant. "He would be so _ashamed_ of what you've become."

Jake remained still and quiet for a long moment.

"Maybe." He realised. "But he always taught his men to follow their orders, sir. I have mine, and _you're_ getting in the way of my objective, Captain. So, this is your last chance to remove yourself from the situation." Jake levelled his sidearm to the Captain's head, his finger tight on the trigger.

"Or _what_?" The Captain challenged.

"Or I'll be forced to do something I don't want to, sir." Jake kept his voice level and low. He didn't have time for this, but it would feel wrong to just gun Richards down without giving him one last opportunity to back down.

But Jake already knew he wouldn't. The man was too proud.

Richards just remained silent, his solemn hush reaffirming his decision. He put the cigar to his lips once more - inhaling deeply.

"I understand. And I want you to know; I'm sorry, sir." Jake told him.

"I know, son. So am I." His cold blue eyes holding Jake's gaze. His courage didn't falter, not even when staring his own death in the face. " _So am I._ "

The barrel of Jake's weapon flashed, and a bang echoed around the room as Richards crumpled to the ground, a new hole in his head. Blood already pooled around his corpse, and Jake felt the colour drain from his face.

He felt like vomiting.

"Jesus Christ..." He whispered to himself, bent double, holding his stomach.

It was then that his communicator beeped, an incoming message that he relayed to his ear-piece.

"This is Lincoln." Jake reported.

" _Jake, it's Bish. Listen, you've got to trigger the evacuation orders on that ship. The Sparrow's taking fire from their ventral cannons, we can't dodge them forever."_ Bish blared into his ear, the Asian man sounded panicked. Evidently, the _Sparrow_ had been hit already, but was too worried about harming its own men on-board their attacker to return fire.

"I'll see what I can do." Jake replied, running over to one of the bridge's many control panels, hoping he'd find some sort of big, red button with the word 'evacuate' on it.

Of course, he didn't.

" _Hurry!"_ Bish encouraged.

"Just give me a minute. I'm going as fast as I can." Jake responded as his eyes flew over the terminals for some kind of emergency evacuation button.

Then, he had an idea.

Jake changed course and sat in the Captain's chair near the back of the room. From his elevated position, he could see the entire bridge, and would've been able to order around its occupants if he were so inclined – or, indeed, there were any crew to give orders to.

Lincoln shook these thoughts from his mind, instead looking at the keypad on the right arm of the Captain's chair. He tried keying in a few commands, attempting to activate the ship-wide public announcement system. But a firewall prevented him from doing so. Clearly, there was some kind of password or security measure involved, preventing anyone except for Captain Richards to make a command.

But seeing as the man in question was nothing but a corpse now, Jake would have to manage by himself. But he had a secret weapon.

"Spades." Jake's spoke, his stern voice demanding a reply.

" _I am here, Pilot."_ The AI responded in a clipped manner. _"How may this unit assist you?"_

"I need access to the _Argonaut's_ PA system, can you patch me through?" Jake asked, hoping the Operating System would be able to find a way around the issue.

" _Analysing, please wait a moment."_

A pause.

" _Affirmative. There is a Level Seven encryption scheme blocking access to the system you require."_ Spades reported. _"I recommend utilising your Data-Knife primary function to navigate through the program. I will then be able to access the command module of the system you require."_

"Thanks, Spades. I owe you one."

Jake did as the AI had instructed, trusting the synthetic's directions were correct. He plunged his Data-Knife into an exposed socket on the arm of the chair. The device beeped and a light flickered as it scanned through hundreds of different combinations every second in order to break the encryption scheme.

" _Success."_ Spades reported helpfully. _"You now have access to the ship-wide public announcement system; please speak into the microphone above your head to relay your commands to the crew of the_ Argonaut."

Jake nodded, pulling the microphone down from somewhere above him. He was briefly reminded of classic depictions of referees in wrestling matches pulling a microphone from the ceiling and screaming something into it to get their audience prepared for the spectacle.

Suffice to say, Jake was indeed 'ready to rumble'.

"Attention all hands! The ship's vital systems are under Militia control. Abandon ship now or face execution. This will be your only chance. Leave immediately, or die." Jake spoke clearly into the microphone, knowing Spades would patch it through to spread across the ship.

It was pretty straight forward actually.

"Spades, give me a sit-rep." Jake ordered, still remaining seated.

" _The life-support station belongs to the Militia. Additionally, IMC radio chatter suggests a prison riot is in progress. Detained M-COR personnel are flooding the armoury and barracks in large numbers."_

"I suppose that means everyone did a pretty good job, then." Jake shrugged.

" _On the contrary, Jake, many Pilots were lost to accomplish the boarding."_ Spades reminded him.

"I know, Spades. But they knew the risks. Dying is an occupational hazard when you're a soldier." Jake pointed out. But Spades was silent. "Spades?"

" _I am detecting an incoming message, marked as 'urgent'."_ The AI told him, completely forgoing their previous conversation.

"From the Militia? From Bish?" Jake asked.

" _No."_ The synthetic responded.

"Then who?"

" _David Turner."_

Jake was silent. He felt like he'd been punched in the gut – hard. Lincoln didn't know if he wanted to see his old mentor from his time in the IMC, or even hear his voice. But he had to know what the man had to say – even if it would only be to spite Jake.

"Play it."

" _There is a video feed from a camera on-board the Argonaut - beaming to main screen now."_

A large plasma screen on the bridge flickered to life, a grainy image coming through of a long corridor, somewhere on the _Argonaut_. The corridor was empty, apart from being littered with bodies of the IMC and Militia alike. The walls and floor were slick with blood, a single figure stood apart from the carnage, staring into the lens of the camera.

 _"Jake."_ David's voice was firm, but the slight shake to his words slightly betrayed him. The anger and fury shook his tone, revealing the cracks in an otherwise flawless facade. "I should have known it would be you to lead this scum here." David paused as he squared up to the camera, gesturing to the dead bodies around him.. The dark red of David's visor gave him an ominous air, and Jake felt something akin to a pang of fear. "But if you think for a _moment_ that I'll just let them take my home from me again."

David let that hang in the air as he stepped over a corpse, forging his way closer ton the lens fitted in the corner of the ceiling.

"I will find you, Ace. And it _will_ be soon." David turned his head, as if pricking up an ear. Jake guessed that he must have heard some sort of clamour nearby – perhaps Militia reinforcements. "But I'm prepared to make a deal with you."

This grabbed Jake's attention, piquing his interest. Ace narrowed his eyes as he waited patiently for his old mentor to elaborate.

David's head snapped back to the camera. "Since you _are_ one of them now, I want something that you can bring me." Turner checked the drum of the shotgun he had been using to clear the ship, grunting in annoyance. Perhaps he'd burned through his ammunition when he'd been cutting down the Militia Jake could see lying like rag-dolls on the floor.

"The attack on my home, Romulos, you remember it?"

Jake nodded, despite knowing David wouldn't be able to see him. It was a one-way feed, as well as being a pre-recorded message.

"I remember." He whispered.

His Pilot Certification test had been based on a simulation of the Militia's assault on the world, an event that had occurred some years earlier. There was a slaughter amidst the chaos of the battle. A lot of civilians were caught in the crossfire, killed in their homes by stray missiles or Titan skirmishes. They'd been trapped in their houses due to evacuation complications.

David's family had been killed during that battle. Parents with military background, who were no doubt proud of their son for making it into the IMC - as a Pilot, no less. When Jake had asked him about it before he'd defected, David told him that the IMC weren't concerned with the body count, so long as they won the battle.

They'd listed his mother and father as 'collateral damage' - a calculated, necessary sacrifice.

Jake had believed it to be one the reasons that David had built himself into an emotionless soldier. Turner had managed to carry on, but only by concealing his true self hidden behind a wall of denial and anger.

The only thing that David had held onto about the incident was that it was apparently a Militia trap. Charges had been set around his injured and helpless family, to be triggered once someone from the IMC came to rescue them.

That's the theory that David had clung onto, regardless of the truth.

But David waited on the screen, and Jake nodded his head absentmindedly, casting off the thoughts. He focused his attention on the here and now, listening carefully to what his old acquaintance had to say.

"Look, I want _names_ \- the people who authorized the attack and the massacre of my family. You do this for me..." There was a significant pause, and Jake waited for his next words to come, "...and I'll resign from the IMC."

" _Holy shit."_ Jake spoke aloud, almost not being able to believe the words he was hearing. To David, the IMC was _everything_ to him. His career, his training, his entire way of life – _all of it_ was dedicated to his prowess as a Pilot. He'd given up so much to be the man he was today.

And to give it all up? For the sake of someone to pin the blame on? David couldn't have been serious.

"I'll leave it to you to get in contact with me. If you don't, and we run into each other before that?" David lowered the shotgun and pulled out his Hammond. "I _will_ kill you."

After those last words, David raised his pistol, taking nothing less than a second to aim and shot the camera, killing the feed immediately. A few seconds passed, and Jake released a long breath.

" _That is the end of the message, Pilot."_ Spades chimed in. _"Would you like me to play it again?"_

Jake was quiet, he almost hadn't heard the question,

" _Pilot?"_ Spades asked, something resembling a concerned tone in the synthetic's voice.

"No, Spades. Thanks mate." Jake cleared his throat. "Just... send it to my inbox. Then destroy the copy on the security feed, I don't think it would be a good idea for anyone else to see this. D'you know what I mean?"

" _I understand, Lincoln. I am uploading this clip to my internal hard-drive for later use. All local copies on-board the Argonaut have been erased."_

"Thanks, Spades." Jake replied. "How's the evacuation going?"

" _Analysing."_ A moment went by before the synthetic spoke again. _"Local IFF signatures show the IMC is in full retreat and Militia boarding parties have finished capturing all vital ship systems. Your plan succeeded, Jake. The Argonaut belongs to the Militia."_

Jake nodded, grinning to himself like an idiot.

"We did it, didn't we?" He said.

" _Affirmative."_ Spades confirmed. _"Alert; I am detecting Militia personnel approaching the bridge."_

"Thanks for the heads-up. And, remember, we're keeping the message from 'you-know-who' a secret, Spades, got it?" Jake reminded the AI.

" _Affirmative, Pilot."_ Spades reassured his operator. _"I have indeed 'got it'."_

Jake grinned again at the Operating System's naivety, just as the first few Militia soldiers came onto the bridge, casting wary glances from Jake to the cold body of Captain Richards lying dead on the floor. Lincoln removed his IMC Pilot helmet, his old uniform that he thought had been incinerated long ago when he first defected.

Among the men and women, Macallan emerged from the swathe of people, walking directly over to Jake, extending a hand for the Pilot to shake.

"Good job, Jake." He beamed, his years of exile and age not weighing him down for once. The older man seemed genuinely happy. "We did it, and it's all thanks to you."

"Well, I don't know about that." Lincoln shook the other man's hand firmly. "We certainly wouldn't have gotten very far if not for Sprocket's EMP-device."

"But a lot of the plan came down to you, Jake. Equipment will only get us so far in this war. We need men like you – no, _Pilots_ like you, and we might just win." Mcallan responded, waving a hand to waft away Jake's humility.

"Thank you, sir." Jake smirked to the other man. Macallan nodded understandingly.

"As a matter of fact, if you keep going like this, Jake, and I can see you going very far indeed. Won't be long before your commanding your own Squad, I reckon." Macallan assured the young man.

Jake raised his eyebrows. That would certainly be something.

Lincoln was about to reply, but Golsan came sprinting around the corner into the bridge. The Pilot was running so fast that he almost slammed into Jake as he made his way over to him.

"Jake!" He shouted, roughly grabbing Lincoln's upper arms, shaking him slightly.

"Whoa, Palmer. Jesus!" Jake raised his voice slightly. "Calm down, just slow-"

"Shut up, Ace!" Golsan interjected, but his voice wasn't mean or scared – just urgent, as if he couldn't get the words out fast enough. "He's awake, Jake! He woke up."

Jake eyebrows creased in confusion. "Who, Palmer? Who's woken up?"

"It's Vlad, Jake." Golsan almost shouted. "Vodnik's awake!"

 **VIIIIIV**

 **Mac Gustah**

Oh my, this is quite the development! The squad lead too drunk to command an OP, Lincoln with what is likely PTSD, and a whole other collection of trouble for the Militia. The Argonaut and the prisoners on board will be important to bring the fleet up to full strength after Angel City, but they still have the whole fuel problem as well as the lost Titans.

I really enjoyed this chapter (I love me some boarding action) an I am looking forward to the next installment of this story. Will the Argonaut be taken? Will Lincoln finally get a titan? And will baker sober up already? You'll see it next time in Brotherhood of Battle! *Queue epic guitar solo*

 **Quite the development, indeed. But you know what they say; war is hell. Each member of Bandit is affected by it in different ways, and has to cope with the pressure somehow. I hope I delivered in this chapter, and it lived up to your expectations. The story is only going to get more intense from here on out – I can promise you that.**

 **Xx13deathsxX**

Have you thought of another titanfall story? Maybe outside the storline of the titanfall 1&2, like maybe a AI that developed within a titan and is starting to infect other titans to attack humans or something :p. Also Jake did a excellent job taking control of the situation when invading the carrier felt realistic.

 **I have toyed with the idea of writing another Titanfall story after this one, quite possibly a prequel or sequel to BoB. I'm also currently working on publishing a story based on The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim.**

 **But you've honestly got some seriously good ideas here. Why not try writing something yourself? It's a lot of fun, trust me.**

 **Crookedreader**

Love the story and how creative it is wish the updates were consistent but love the story either way.

 **I wish I could make the updates consistent as well, and I write when I can, but unfortunately life gets in the way sometimes, and it is pretty annoying, I'm not gonna lie. But I love writing, and especially love this story. I assure you that I will see it through, even if it takes me longer than expected.**


	14. Chapter XIII - First Name Basis

The Brotherhood of Battle

Chapter Thirteen – First Name Basis

Jake panted hard as he scrambled after Golsan, and was sweating by the time they reached the infirmary. In seconds, he indentified the rest of Bandit Squad standing there, assembled around a pane of one-way glass, staring with solemn expressions at what lay within.

Jake followed their gazes and felt his heart stop in his chest.

Vodnik. Awake, and chatting with the attending medical staff. A doctor and an attending nurse.

"Oh, my God." Jake breathed out. "It's really true."

He felt a hand clap him on the shoulder, and he tore his gaze away to see who had touched him. Desmond offered a small smile, one that contained a hint of sadness, but was overcome with joy at the same time. There were terrible bags under his eyes, and his face seemed paler. Jake could smell the stale taste of hard liquor on his breath, and he winced inwardly.

"It really is, Jake. He woke up about forty-five minutes ago, just before you boarded the _Argonaut_. Well done on that, by the way." Desmond beamed.

Jake smiled his appreciation as he locked his eyes back to Vlad, lying in a bed that was a little too clean. The conversation he was having with the doctor was completely muted. But if Vodnik's facial expression was anything to go by, it wasn't a happy discussion they were having, and he seemed to be on the verge of tears.

"I'm sorry, you know." Desmond continued, the rest of Bandit awkwardly listening to the conversation. "That I wouldn't help you with the boarding..."

 _Wouldn't?_ Jake thought; _so, you were given a choice, but you decided not to._

"I just wasn't in the right frame of mind." He lied.

They all knew the truth. He'd been drunk off his ass, probably unable to even stand, let alone fight a full crew of IMC personnel.

"It doesn't matter now, mate. It's in the past." Jake reassured him. Desmond nodded, breathing out a sigh of relief. The guilt the man obviously felt about not being able to go was weighing heavily on him, so Jake quickly changed the topic.

"Has anyone gone in to see him?"

"They won't let us. Not yet." Castillo added. "Something about a 'psych evaluation'. Pfft, he's a Pilot, for fuck's sake. We're all a little messed up in the head."

 _You more than most, mate._ Lincoln thought.

Jake shook his head. Alan hadn't taken part in the boarding either, and he intended to find out why at some point, but now wasn't the time.

"So when, then?" Jake asked.

"Soon. Be patient." Breaker answered, he was also standing at the window, but his face betrayed very little of whatever he was feeling.

Jake nodded and sighed, searching for a seat. He found it difficult, as he was still wearing his Pilot armour from the raid, but he eventually settled into a comfortable position.

He was tired, and his limbs ached and he was desperate for a bit of shut-eye. But he couldn't. Not now. There was too much to think about, too much to do. For starters, he'd have to report to Sarah or Bish and tell them how things went on the bridge. They'd want to know why he'd shot a high-ranking IMC naval officer in the fore-head rather than hold him prisoner, and in truth, Jake wondered that too.

But he suspected he knew already, but he just didn't want to admit it.

It wasn't a need for revenge or guilt, and it wasn't honour, or a sense of duty. Or anything as noble.

Just shame. Plain and simple. Everything that Richards had said about Jake was true. That he was a coward and a traitor, and Lincoln knew it all too well. Richards saw it the moment they locked eyes.

"Chin up, Jake." Desmond told him, taking a seat next to the slightly younger Pilot. "You did well today. Nobody can say otherwise."

Jake said nothing, but nodded regardless. He wasn't really listening, and even though he didn't want to, even though he knew he had about a million and one things to do at that moment – he closed his eyes and started to snore almost immediately.

 **VIIIIIV**

 _Two Weeks Later..._

He paced to and fro in Bandits barracks on the Sparrow, clutching a tac-pad in his hands, analysing the logistics and recent simulation reports of the new Titan chassis. He was going to be interviewed later by Sprocket, as well as a few other engineers and technicians, to see if he would be the right fit for the Titan chassis.

He was brushing up on how well Spades would be able to integrate into the new hardware and the differences between his old Atlas and this new model when he heard a knock on the door.

His eyes snapped over to the entrance, then flitted over to Castillo, who seemed to have either completely ignored it or hadn't heard it at all, too deeply engrossed in his book to notice.

Jake rolled his eyes and sauntered over to the door, taking his time as he did so. He was in no rush. Jake pressed the access pad on the side of the door, and the panel slid away to reveal a young medical officer. The man seemed impatient; his face pinched as if someone had scolded him.

"Yes?" Jake asked.

"Your Squad Leader wants to see you, said it's important." The medical officer replied.

"Better be." Castillo replied, folding the corner of his page to bookmark it before closing it. "The plot was just starting to get interesting."

"What does he want?" Jake inquired as he drew the officer attention back to him.

"I'm not sure, but he made it clear that he wanted to speak with you alone, sir."

"Oh." Jake replied, casting an uneasy glance at Alan, who just shrugged.

"You sure I can't tag along. I'll be a good boy, I promise." He grinned, his joke deadpan and a little creepy for Jake.

"Sorry, mate." He offered a wry smile. "I'll let you know what he wants when I get back."

"Whatever, why would I care?" He muttered as he returned to his book. Jake sighed and turned back to the officer and nodded.

"Let's go, then." He prompted, closing the door behind him as they left.

"What the fuck is that guy's problem?" The soldier asked after the door had shut and they were well out of Alan's earshot.

"You don't want to know." Jake admitted, although inwardly scolding himself for not knowing the truth. He'd find out what made that man tick one day, but he had more important things to do at the moment.

 **VIIIIIV**

Barker came to with the worst headache he'd had for as long as he could remember. His eyelids opened to a bright white room, which only intensified the pain. He seethed and sat up in his chair. He assumed he was in the Corsair, the on-board bar on the _Sparrow_.

Instinctively, his arm reached out before him to try and find whatever beverage he'd been nursing before passing out. He groaned when he felt nothing there, and his fingers brushed thin air and the hard surface of the table.

" _Fuck..._ " He sighed, then looked up.

He wasn't in the bar, and he definitely wasn't drunk. He _hated_ not being drunk.

"About time you woke up. How are you feeling?" A woman asked.

He opened his bleary eyes to look at the slender woman sitting opposite him. Sarah Briggs. Her stare was cold and uncaring, and he instantly knew that she really didn't want to be here, sat at the other end of the table, tac-pad in hand.

"Like shit warmed up and served on a plate with a healthy serving of-"

"I think I get the picture." She assured him, slightly curling the edges of her lips downwards in a grimace of distaste.

"What the hell do you want from me, Commander?"

She smiled, but there was no warmth to the expression. She _definitely_ didn't want to be here.

"I want to know how to get to Leviathan." She replied, her tone even and patient.

"Second star to the right, and straight on til morning!" Barker laughed.

"I don't have time for your stupid games, Robert." She replied, shaking her head.

"Can't I have some rum, or something? I'm really thirsty."

Sarah didn't say a word; instead she just pushed her glass of water closer to Barker. He looked at the glass, then back to her and raised a single eyebrow.

"I said I was thirsty, not dying."

"Tough." She replied monotonously.

Barker sighed, then drew the lip of the glass up to his mouth. He gulped the cool liquid and sighed as if was the nectar of the gods.

"You want to know? Fine. But I want something in return."

"Name it."

"Don't _ever_ try to curb my drinking again. It's my choice, and you've no right to stop me. You don't know what I've been through."

Sarah nodded, her eyes never wavering from his. She understood completely.

"You're right, I'm sorry. But it was the only way you'd co-operate with us."

Barker didn't move a muscle, he just stared at her without blinking. His face twitched every so often, and Sarah got the impression that he wasn't looking at her – that he was seeing something else, a memory playing out before his very eyes.

"I'm drunk so I don't remember all those things I did." He muttered cryptically. "So just leave me to my sorrows, you hear?"

"I do." Sarah replied. "Like I said; I'm sorry."

 **VIIIIIV**

Jake knew the route to the medical wing of the ship off-by-heart by now. He'd been there countless times for dozens of different reasons; checking up on Vodnik, getting treatment and check-ups for his skin graft, as well as the occasional flu shot or antibiotics for a particularly bad stomach-ache.

But the Medical Officer insisted on escorting him all the same. As they were now part of the same battle group, the _Sparrow_ and _Argonaut_ were able to share the load when it came to medical and technical affairs. The latter ship, being the larger, more advanced dreadnought had an equally more advanced medical wing where the worst cases would be treated; dismemberment, shrapnel wounds and brain damage victims all found their way there.

Whereas many recovering patients found themselves onboard the Sparrow, as they were technically deemed fit to serve, but they were always relegated to the reserves - never to be deployed unless absolutely necessary. After all, the Militia needed every man and woman they could find to help even the odds, a few bumps and bruises would have to be tolerated.

Jake was probably the prime example of that philosophy. After all, less than three weeks ago he'd had a hole blown through his chest and he'd only needed a few days to recover, all thanks to the tissue cloning process. Jake touched the new skin with a gentle finger, his shirt the only obstacle, and he grimaced at the memory of the pain of having his chest ripped apart by a plasma round.

They stopped outside Vlad's room, and the medical officer said nothing as he slid an ID card over an access panel. It blinked a couple of times, then the opaque grey door slid open in a well-lit room. Jake thanked the officer, who shrugged and replied with a gentle grunt.

"Ah, Jake! Good to see you. Come in, come in! Would you like some tea?" Vodnik exclaimed as the English Pilot entered.

"I'll be alright, thanks." He politely declined.

"A good decision, it tastes like horse-shit." Vodnik laughed loudly, but his laughter quickly turned into dry shuddering coughs.

Jake's brow furrowed in concern, but Vlad waved him away as the younger man approached to offer his help. Instead, he waited for it to subside than took a few sips from a glass of water.

"Are you alright?" Jake asked, knowing the answer already.

"Of course." Vodnik replied. "It just hurts to laugh."

"Almost being squeezed to death by an Ogre will do that to you." Jake replied, followed by a small chuckle of his own. "But I digress; you wanted to see me, sir?"

Vodnik nodded, his face suddenly becoming grim.

"Yes, indeed. Please, have a seat."

Jake did so, and looked over to Vodnik, who paced the room with a distinct limp in his gait, but Lincoln didn't mention it for fear of embarrassing the man.

"Do you consider us friends, Jake?" Vodnik asked, as he stopped pacing and looked at Jake with an unreadable expression.

The question caught him off-guard, but Lincoln nodded his head after a moment.

"Sure, I mean... I hope so? What's this ab-"

"Please, Jake. No questions." Vodnik scolded him gently, and continued his line of questioning without hearing his reply.

"Would you lie to me?" He asked.

"I don't think so."

"A 'yes' or 'no', please, Jake." Vodnik clarified, taking a seat on his bed.

"Then, no. I don't think I would." Jake told him.

Vodnik hummed. "I've spoken to Desmond. He told me that he did not help you when you went to capture the _Argonaut_. Is this true?"

"It is." Jake swallowed a lump in his throat. This was horrible, like rolling every job interview and police interrogation he'd ever had into one.

"Why do you think that is?"

"I don't understand the question." Jake narrowed his eyes in confusion.

"Yes, you do. You said you wouldn't lie to me." Vodnik replied. "Why do you think Desmond wasn't there? What do you think his absence was due to?"

Jake sighed. He knew exactly why, but he didn't want to tell Vlad. It felt like ratting out a close friend, which is exactly what Desmond had become.

"Because he was... _drunk_ , sir." Jake looked down at the floor in shame.

"Go on." Vodnik urged, crossing his arms.

"Look, ever since you put him in charge of the team, he's been drinking. It wouldn't normally bother me, but..."

"You're worried about him?" Vodnik finished his sentence.

"I suppose so." Jake admitted. "But that's not what bothers me so much."

"Go on."

"He's meant to be our leader, sir. When you were in charge, you lead by example. But Desmond, I don't know. He's a good person, and a great Pilot. Probably better than I'll ever be, but I don't think he's the person to lead the team, if you can't."

Vodnik sighed. "Good answer."

"Permission to speak freely?"

"Granted." Vlad nodded.

"Why are you asking me all this?" Jake demanded.

Vodnik rubbed his beard. It had grown shabby and unkempt in his coma, but apparently Vlad hadn't bothered to correct it yet.

"Because he came to me first. Desmond. He was sober, but on the verge of a breakdown."

Jake raised an eyebrow. This was news to him; he'd had no idea what Desmond had been doing in the last few days. He was too busy preparing for his Titan compatibility test.

"What did he want?" Jake pressed.

"He was, for lack of a better word, broken. It is like you said; he's a good man, but not a good leader. Desmond told me about how he hadn't been able to stand up from his bar stool when the time to fight for the _Argonaut_ approached." Vodnik clarified for him. "He told me that he didn't think he would be a good example to the men. So, he asked to step down as leader. He wanted to leave the Militia. He thought he wasn't worth anything to this team - or to the war."

Lincoln was shocked. He'd known that Spectre had been shaken by his absence from the battle, but Jake didn't realise his feelings ran so deep.

"And?"

"I talked him out of it. He's staying, but Desmond insisted on stepping down from his position as Squad Leader." Vodnik held up a placating hand."

"I'm glad to hear that he's still with us, but I think I understand what you're saying."

Vodnik raised an eyebrow. "And what is that?"

"You want to ask who I think should take over Bandit, don't you?" Jake asked, receiving an affirmative nod from the Russian man moments later. "But why can't it just go back to how it was? You're the best leader we've had."

Vodnik returned his warmth, and nodded.

"I am unable to do so, in my condition." Vlad smiled. "Sarah doesn't know about Desmond and has asked me to report to the _Argonaut_ as soon as I can."

"What for?"

"I'm the captain now, you see. She's my ship, once I'm ready."

Jake beamed. "That's fantastic, sir. You should be proud."

"I am. But, unfortunately, it means I won't be able to lead the squad."

"And if Desmond doesn't want to..."

"Then we need to decide who should take over." Vlad confirmed, nodding. "Tell me. What do you think of the others?"

"Well, I've already told you about Des. He's a great Pilot, and he knows how to follow orders. But he doesn't know which ones to give."

Vodnik said nothing, clearly waiting for Jake to continue.

"I don't know what to say about Castillo."

"No one does." Vodnik laughed, bellowing a few hearty chuckles before descending into a fit of coughs again.

"I mean, he's _crazy_. I don't think it was a good idea to make him a Pilot, let alone the leader of four of them."

"What about Golsan?" Vodnik asked.

"As a leader? I'm not sure. He's too young, I think. And he's _angry_. He fights with rage, and that's a good thing, don't get me wrong. It'll keep you on your toes, keep you alive. It's a great fuel to use when you're killing wave after wave of IMC, but I know that decisions made in anger are usually the wrong ones. And if he makes the wrong choice as the Squad Leader, he could get all of us killed."

Vodnik nodded in agreement. "Palmer needs a cooler head, this is true. A good soldier, which he certainly is. But you are right. He wouldn't be the right person to plan and anticipate the enemy."

"Breaker's the same story. I've never seen him back down from a fight." Jake added. Vlad hummed in agreement.

"True. But that is a good thing, no?"

Jake pulled a face; his expression was clearly one of disagreement. "It depends on the circumstances, I guess. In a lot of ways, it's fantastic. When regular soldiers see a Pilot fighting dozens of infantry and other Pilots alone, it does miracles for morale. But he needs someone to rein him in, he struggles to back off once he's started a fight. I don't think he'd be a good fit for leadership if he can't control himself in battle."

"Well put." Vodnik agreed. "What about you?"

Jake was bemused. "What about me?"

"You could lead them. Don't you think?" Vodnik smiled like he had some hidden knowledge.

"No. That's probably not a good idea."

"Why?"

Jake shrugged, clearly searching for a satisfying answer. "I'm too green. No ever listens to a Rookie."

"The fact that the _Argonaut_ was captured under your direct orders proves otherwise, wouldn't you say?" Vodnik asked in a teasing tone.

"It's not that you're wrong, it's just that I don't think the others would listen to me." Jake pointed out.

"You remember that I said Desmond visited me earlier?" Jake nodded. "After he stepped down, he told me that he thought _you_ should be the one to pick up where he left off."

That was news to Jake, who ran a hand through his hair. It meant a lot for Spectre to endorse him like that, but that wasn't enough for Lincoln.

"I don't know, Vlad." Jake conceded. "If the others don't support the decision, then I won't."

"But what if they do?"

"Then, I suppose I'll have to." Jake smiled.

"It shouldn't be a question of 'have to'. Bandit needs a leader, on _and_ off the battlefield. But that leader should want to step up to the mark. They have to want that position, it shouldn't be bestowed."

Jake sighed; he had to admit that the Russian man was making a very strong point. "Alright. I'll do it, but only if they have to want me be their leader, too. _All of them._ " Jake requested, and Vodnik nodded.

"A fair demand." He sniffed, as if weighing up his options. "Very well." Jake smiled, thanked the man, then got up to leave. He stopped by the doorframe and looked back at the Russian.

"So what's going to happen to the _Argonaut_?" Jake asked. "Are you going to rename it?" Vodnik pulled a face, as if he hadn't even considered it. But his eyes lit up with enthusiasm.

" _Yes._.." He smiled. "Yes, I think I might. Tell me, how does _Leonidas_ sound?"

Jake gave a theatrical _'ooh'_ noise. Like a stage audience just learning of a plot twist during the final act of the play.

"If I were still IMC, I'd be shaking in my boots."

Vodnik laughed at that, but this time, he didn't cough - his laugh was pure heartwarming merriment.

 **VIIIIIV**

"Name?" A bored military officer monotonously droned, as if he'd said the line a million times before. Which he probably had, the girl thought.

"Rhian." She lied.

He sighed deeply, as if she'd just uttered the stupidest name in the galaxy.

"Your _full_ name." He implored.

She bit her lip, the nerves flaring up inside her for the briefest of moments.

"Rhian Kinley." She told him. Both names were completely false, as were the credentials she'd passed him a moment earlier. She'd had to pay a pretty hefty fee to the right people to get her hands on the fake copies, but it would be worth it if she could get off this planet.

Only the space-port officer stood in her path.

His eyes studied the credentials with a discerning eye. His gaze swapping between her face and the grainy picture of her on the passport.

"Alright." He said after a while. "Go on through. But don't cause any trouble for the officers; they get real twitchy trigger-fingers in Militia controlled space, if you catch my drift."

"But the IMC says that this region belongs to them, right?" She asked.

"Don't believe everything you hear, kid. This is a war, after all." He confessed, his strict personality softening for a moment. " _Next_!"

'Rhian' pressed onward, feeling the cold glares of the IMC Military Police officers on her as she boarded the shuttle that would take her away from this god-forsaken planet and to her eventual new life on the Frontier.

 **VIIIIIV**

 **Author's Note:**

 **Sorry this took so long. I don't have any excuses this time, I was just lacking the energy to do anything. I started another story in the Elder Scrolls universe to kick-start my writing again, and so far it's worked. I promise all of you that I'll be getting more frequent in the future, but please don't expect more than one chapter every month or two, I have a very busy schedule at the moment, but I will try to make time for this.**

 **Thanks for reading.**

 **Reviews:**

 **Mac Gustah**

Bloody loved it. Even with moderate to heavy losses, it would have been worth it to take out a skilled commander like Richards *and* get a new ship to boot. And of course the saved prisoners, those are nice too. And the captured equipment. Etc etc.

I see that Rainbow team Six has also arrived :) Ah, Thermite and Thatcher, the dynamic duo. And who can? Kapkan! The Turner thing is an interesting development as well. Didn't see that one coming. Ash would be a great pilot; she's fast, well trained, but most importantly she does not have a head hitbox.  
Also, Vlad's up! He's gonna be so proud of Jake, stealing a ship like the Argonaut. It'll make his dusty old man heart warm. Or that might be the internal bleeding, but who cares.

Cheers and till next time, Mac Gustah

 **Thank you for such a lovely review. It goes without saying that Vlad will probably try and take the credit for the siege, after all, he basically taught Jake everything he knows about stealing stuff for the 'greater good', right? And yeah, it wouldn't be okay with me to make a chapter about a Siege without including some characters who know how to do just that. I' a massive fan of the game, and I'm on Xbox, if you were wondering. We should play together sometime, if you're able to.**

 **Guest**

I think if you had Roe and Ace walk into each ither during the boarding would give the story an extra flare as their ex kinda love life may get in the way of killng each other...

 **Now that you mention it, it would've been kinda awesome, but my friend who is writing his own story parallel to this one already has a plan in store for her during the siege, you'll just have to wait to find out...**

 **Xx13deathsxX**

Thanks man I appreciate the feedback, I do write but right now I'm working on a star wars story so thats my main focus especially with a lot going on. I think you making another titanfall story would be awesome especially with how much you know

 **Well, thank you very much for your continuing support. I'd like to do a follow-up to this story one day, when it's all said and done. I'm planning to end this story at the last mission of the first game, but it will feature an epilogue set a few years after the events of the penultimate chapter. It's all planned out, but writing it out is going to be the hard part haha**

 **Regalus27**

Great story, love your writing! Keep up the good work whenever you can.

 **Thank you! And cheers for reading. I hope you like this update too!**

 **Guest**

UPDATE FUCKER...pls

 **Lmao okay, but only because you asked so politely. 'Fucker' lol**

 **Crookedreader**

I can and will wait for the updates to come loved this chapter and all the twists it had to it

 **Thank you for your patience. Like I said, I had some shit going on and I have a super busy schedule these days, but I'll continue to surprise with plenty of twists and turns.**

 **SpartanDelta-118**

I know we're losing, Commander." He told her. "I just want to know if we've lost

Is that a Halo Reach reference I spy?

 **Mayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyybe...**

 **Yeah, it is. It's my favourite line from the entire saga. I love to stick in little easter eggs wherever and whenever I can.**

 **Reviewerguy**

I cant wait for next chapter

 **Yes, you can. But I'm glad that the story is keeping you in such suspense. But here's the reward for your patience! A whole new chapter – with plenty more to comeeeeeeee**

 **Gotasegway**

Hey! I was just wondering when you are going to upload the next chapter. I want to know what wil happen with Ace and David!

 **Boom; new chapter, just for you – fresh off the press. Get it while it's hot!**


	15. Chapter XIV - A Serious Security Breach

**The Brotherhood of Battle**

 **Chapter Fourteen: A Serious Security Breach**

 **Lincoln's Logbook, Entry Twenty-Seven;**

 _It's been a pretty crazy few days. After Vodnik asked me how I would feel about being put at the head of Bandit, he talked to everyone in the Squad. Apparently, he must've asked them their opinion because within twenty-four hours, I was unanimously declared as Squad Leader. We notified Sarah, to make it official. And once that was done, I just tried my best. We did have a celebratory drink or two in the Corsair, but aside from that, we've been doing training exercises in some sim-pods that were recovered from the_ IMS Argonaut, _now re-named the_ MCS Leonidas _, with Vladimir Zuyev at the helm. We haven't heard much from him since he transferred from the medical wing and took up his new duties as a Ship Captain. But that's to be expected. He sent us a message a few hours saying he'd try to find some time to catch up with us when he could, but I won't hold him to it. He needs to do about a million and one tasks before he has a chance to have some time to himself. Apparently, he's going to talk to the IMC who were captured when we took the_ Argonaut _._

 _Let's see, what else? Oh, yeah. I went down to Engineering yesterday to talk to Sprocket, the Titan mechanic. He told me all about Project Forefront, and what he and a few others are working on. He confirmed that it's a new Titan spec they're developing, piece by piece. Apparently, it's the Militia's own design. He's not in charge of it, though. Apparently some brother and sister duo are leading it, but he wouldn't tell me much about them, just their names – Justin and Emma Ranger. He wanted to talk to me because of my neural implant. Apparently it's compatible with the chassis that they're working on. They called it a 'Vanguard'. I've no idea what it was, but it felt link an extension of my body. I could move and reach and walk like I was really doing it. I've never experienced anything like it. When it was over, they thanked me for the test, and told me I'd be considered for one of the first editions of the chassis when they shipped out to the other fleets to be used in ground-combat. After that, he asked me what new chassis I'd like to give to Spades, now that they'd recovered some from the belly of the_ Leonidas _. I was given a choice between the classic trio, the mighty Ogre, the nimble Stryder, or the somewhere-in-the-middle Atlas. I, of course, opted for the latter. Old habits, I suppose._

 _Lastly, I came to see Sarah Briggs this morning. It's my first mission as Bandit's leader on Leviathan - a planet that the IMC abandoned some twenty years ago. Apparently, there's a science building that we need to infiltrate._

 _Some recon and surveillance shows a small team of IMC soldiers going in there roughly thirty minutes ago. We need to get there ASAP and retrieve an important piece of technology that the IMC were working on before they abandoned the place. I'm about to brief Bandit on the mission._

 _ **VVVVVV**_

MCS _Sparrow_ , in orbit above Leviathan, three days later...

 _ **VVVVVV**_

"So, here's the deal," Jake said, slamming his hands onto the holo-table for effect and to get the attention of his squad. "Barker's co-ordinates worked out and the flight crew got the _Sparrow_ and _Leonidas_ here faster than we expected. So far, there've been minimal reports of IMC forces on the ground, but that was what we predicted. The only IMC down there are a small group of soldiers that entered a science-centre, where we'll be headed. But I'll get to that later. This planet has been abandoned for at least a two decades. However, there an orbital IMC proximity alarm, so I wouldn't be surprised if an entire fleet of the bastards are on their way here now – and if that's the case, we've got less than half an hour until they arrive."

Castillo looked away from Jake, and began brushing his knife with a whetstone. Lincoln shook his head, he knew that Alan would be listening, but he didn't want to let his squad leader know that, for whatever reason.

"We'll be going down first, scouting out the hard-points and establishing drop zones. Marine complements will arrive second, and they'll be protecting the hardware while three Pilot Squads defend the perimeter. We're playing this by ear, people. Bish has promised reinforcements, but the closest Militia fleet won't get here before the IMC."

"Jake." Someone spoke to Lincoln's right. He looked over and saw Golsan's face creased in confusion.

"What is it?" He prompted.

"You said we're setting up a perimeter, but the place is abandoned, right? What would we be defending against?"

"I asked Sarah the same thing. The truth is; we don't know. It's a desert planet, but a scan of the base revealed signs of local wildlife infesting the place. There'll be a shit-tonne of indigenous fauna to worry about, so shoot-to-kill."

"What kind of wildlife?" Desmond asked.

"Quadrupeds, mostly. Barker's warned about some kind of flying reptile species that are indigenous here; they're about the size of a small plane. So _watch the skies_ until we get indoors, they're strong enough to pick you up and drop you from a few hundred feet."

"You said there'll be other Pilot squads." Breaker asked, cleaning his rifle.

"Yep," Jake nodded his head. "The Silver Skulls and the Hellhounds. Us too, of course. We'll be the advance force, like I said. But our mission won't be as simple as a breach and clear."

"It never is." Someone sighed.

"Can't wrap my head around why the other Pilot Squads have to name themselves such stupid shit." Castillo murmured to himself. "Silver Skulls? Hellhounds? What the fuck could be next; the Pretty Ponies?"

Desmond chuckled lightly. Like the rest of the squad, he was fully armoured up, except for his helmet. He was busy checking his assault rifle, making sure that the magazine port was free of obstructions and that every little piece was exactly where it should be.

"We've been tasked with locating, retrieving, and delivering a piece of technology that Bish says should be within the base somewhere. It's a data-knife prototype that Cheng needs for his Ice-Pick. So we've got the honour of retrieving it."

As Jake said it, the holotable popped a hologram of the device. It was a little bulkier that the regular Data-Knives that Pilots typically used, but Jake had been assured this was to give it an exponentially faster rate of decryption and system breaching. Something that Bish had also assured Jake he sorely needed such a device if his plan was to come to fruition. Jake continued talking.

"Our target is our top priority on the ground. We're not the only ones going down, so we shouldn't need to worry about winning this fight, but the sooner we can find the Ice-Pick, the sooner we get to bash some IMC heads that will have probably arrived by that time, am I clear?"

"Crystal."

"Good, all the intel we've been given states that the device is somewhere in the base, where some IMC lab-coats were working on it until the higher-ups cut the funding and called the project a bust. It should still be there. Apparently the entire wing was cordoned off in the facility it was located in - locked away underground where no one could take it."

"I assume that's where we come in?" Breaker asked, checking both tubes on his jump-pack.

"You assume correctly." Jake told him.

"For once." Golsan muttered under his breath.

"Quiet," Jake went on. "It's also the same building that our recon systems showed several heat signatures enter in a co-ordinated fashion corresponding to known IMC breaching tactics. Roughly twenty soldiers were deployed. We don't know why, but we should assume the worst. They're there for exactly the same thing as us, and if they manage to retrieve it first – or God forbid, destroy it – we'll have lost months developing what is already on that database and Bish'll be back at square one. We're dropping in a separate area to the main force. That way, we should draw less attention and hopefully do our jobs unnoticed when the IMC get here."

"Okay, so we go in and get the hardware before the IMC, sounds simple enough," Desmond said. "How do we get out?"

Jake nodded thoughtfully at his question. "It depends on us. If we find it before the IMC arrive, we'll be able to exfil on a Crow, but if we do take too long and the IMC get here before we find the Ice-Pick, they'll have air superiority, so an air-evac is out of the question. So, we'll do it the old fashioned way, drop in our Titans and punch through the enemy lines and head directly to where the rest of our forces will be. When we arrive, we sweep up the enemy ground forces, capture whatever command points need conquering and get a ride out when the fly-boys are ready to do their job."

"So, we just punch through one point and bypass everything to the sides, effectively surrounding ourselves?" Alan scoffed. "Good luck with that."

"We do that on a regular basis," Desmond reminded him sharply.

"Yeah, difference is; now _we're_ the ones who are going to be taking the brunt of the IMC forces – and I don't want to get riddled with bullets, Spectre."

"It doesn't matter," Jake interrupted. "We'll do our job, just like always."

"When do we drop?" Breaker asked.

"Now." Jake replied. "Spades, please inform Staff Sergeant Matthews that we're ready to deploy."

" _Already done, Pilot. This unit does hope you'll enjoy your orbital fall, it's not often we'll get to experience what many marines describe as 'stomach-lurching' and 'arse-tightening'. Please savour the experience.'_ " The AI replied. _"Good luck down there."_

"Thanks, Spades." Jake retorted, cringing at the Operating System's crude sense of humour. Clearly the synthetic still had a long way to go before he developed anything close to a funny joke. "Okay, Bandit, grab your gear, we're going in pretty light. Two cans of bio-foam each. Spectre, you're our acting-medic, take some heavy meds and a gauze-kit in case someone needs patching up."

"Got it."

Jake loaded a magazine into his rifle, pulling back the cocking mechanism, feeding one bullet into the chamber and then ejecting the magazine so that he could shove one more bullet inside before reloading it again. He slung the rifle over his back, making sure the magnetic clamps in his armour were working correctly.

"Helmets on, and inside the pods. Spades, we're good to go."

 _"Of course, Jake. And might I say; leadership suits you rather well."_

Jake thanked his AI for the compliment before climbing inside of his cramped pod, leaning back on the cushions and gripping the handles tightly. He let go briefly in order to crack his knuckles, if only to calm himself down. He was nervous, as he was already so used to dropping into a combat zone onboard a dropship, rather than a drop-pod.

" _All Pilots squads are awaiting deployment."_ Spades added. _"Ejecting drop-pods in five, four, three, two, one..."_

His stomach reeled as the pod left the _Sparrow_ itself and, by extension, gravity. Space seemed awfully dark as the twenty or so pods plummeted towards Leviathan. Jake's pod glided smoothly through the weightless environment for a few seconds before it started shaking as it broke through the upper atmosphere of the planet, the lead foil absorbing all the heat from compressing air below him. The void of space outside of his pod quickly turned into a dark blue than became much lighter as they thundered closer and closer to the planet.

Needless to say, Jake agreed with the supposition that the fall from space in what was little more than a metal coffin was an 'arse-tightening' experience.

 **VIIIIIV**

On the bridge of the IMS _Hydrae,_ the navigation crew worked tirelessly to chase up leads of Militia activity and keep up analysis of the ships functions, making sure that the life support systems, weapon arrays and engines were all systematically sound and that the engineering crews responsible for each segment of the ship were checking in with regular updates about their area. A sudden beeping at Ensign O'Leary's command console drew his attention away from his work, but he screwed up his face confusion. It was the command console responsible for planetary proximity alarms. He swivelled his chair around and examined the message.

' _Level Two Proximity Breach Alert! In Orbit-Sector-Eight; Leviathan. Intruders unresponsive to IFF identify requests, suspected Militia activity reported – immediate action advised._ **'**

O'Leary hummed in thought; this was an odd, but not unheard of, incident. The system that monitored Leviathan's orbit was old and relied on an automated tracking system for any unidentified objects that entered the range of the planet. That being said, there were plenty of false alarms when it came to systems like this one; malfunctions, meteors, space debris or occasionally even the planet itself if the alarms were out of geo-synchronicity.

The ensign rubbed his bleary, tired eyes, running through the procedure for incidents like these in his head. He blinked away a wave of fatigue as he requested a pinhole monitoring device to be jettisoned from the satellite, giving him several still images facing the direction of the 'intruders'. He typed the command and sent it to the probe, which jettisoned the device and took several photos six seconds apart, to give the maximum amount of images it could to the user. The transmission of the images took at least a minute to go through the connection established between the planetary proximity alarm device and to the _Hydrae_ , and O'Leary yawned as he loaded the fetched images onto his console screen.

An image of two Militia vessels filled the screen, the pair of star-ships hovered above the planet. One was a lightly-armoured and manoeuvrable light frigate that the IMC IFF system tagged as the 'MCS _Sparrow_ '. The other was the IMS _Argonaut_ , recently reported stolen and pressed into service for the Militia fleet.

O'Leary's eyes widened immediately, and any semblance of fatigue was rushed out of him as his body filled with adrenaline and a hint of panic. He looked around for the Ship Captain, Oragi, and found the thin Asian woman leaning over the shoulder of a mining technician, examining the data on his console with a sharp eye.

"Captain!" O'Leary called, and the woman turned, a scowl on her face at being interrupted in her work. "Ma'am, confirmed reports of Militia fleet activity above Leviathan."

She immediately strode over to the proximity alarm console and looked at the data and images.

"We got them." She muttered. "Good work, Ensign. Get a communications officer to patch this through to Spyglass with directions to give it to the Vice-Admiral. Then we'll wait for further orders, though I suspect we'll be re-routed for an interception mission, understood?"

"Aye, ma'am. Right away."

 **VIIIIIV**

After landing and stepping out of their scorched pods, Bandit Squad converged on Jake's position; everybody had their weapons ready and were checking their surroundings as they jogged towards him. They had purposely landed on a collapsed building, it had fallen due to years of neglect and poor manufacture. There were smoke-stacks rising from the pods impact points. The jet boosters that had softened their landing had caught fire and scorched patches of cement in wide black circles around each pod. While Jake had no doubt that their pods could've been spotted on the way down by surveillance technology, it would be pretty hard for any local wildlife to see them through all the thick smoke. On the downside, Jake couldn't see them either.

"Everybody okay? Check in." Jake ordered.

"Spectre." Desmond said.

"Phobos." Golsan replied.

"Breaker." John said.

"Scope." Anthony added.

"Confirmed. Alright, let's get moving. Target is two clicks West."

Each Pilot polarized their visors as one before settling into line. Desmond and Jake were at the back of the procession, jogging over sand dunes and between ruined buildings. Theoretically, if they encountered an enemy head on, their long-range weapons would serve to keep them at bay while the rest of the squad moved forward to cover with close-range firearms like shotguns or sub-machineguns. In reality, it was more likely that they would be attacked from anywhere but the front. That was especially true in a situation like this, without much prior intel of the terrain or schematics of the target building, Jake was constantly searching the skies for signs of the flying reptile predators he had warned his team about.

"Target left," Golsan called out from the head of the line.

"Identify." Jake ordered.

"Fauna, four-legged. Looks hairy, mean and hungry – seems to be alone, boss."

"Alright, take it out."

Golsan fired two bullets, and downed the creature. It died with a howl of pain. The suppressed shots hid their presence well, and Jake wondered whether or not it could stay that way until their mission was finished. A simple smash-and-grab mission, how hard could that possibly be?

"Tango down." Golsan told them all. "Wait, why did I say that?"

"You've been watching too many of Desmond's old action movies," Breaker told him matter-of-factly. "I think we all have."

"If you like them so much, I don't understand why you complain about them," Spectre replied. "I mean, you must've watched some of them at least a dozen times."

"Only because there's nothing else to do on the damn ship." Golsan defended himself. "I mean, I have a hard time choosing between the combat simulation training and sleeping. What else is there to do beside going to the gym, and watching Desmond's shitty old movies."

"Hey, come on." Desmond protested. "What's your problem?"

"What about showering?" Castillo spoke up, ignoring Desmond completely. "We can all tell you don't do that anywhere near enough."

Golsan turned and presumably glared daggers at Scope.

"Hey, shut it!" He retorted.

"Whoa, don't come too close, kid. I can smell you just fine from here. _Phooey_..." Alan waved his hand as if wafting away a fart.

"Lock it down, both of you." Jake ordered. Golsan huffed, and turned back toward the objective. "You guys really put the 'special' in _'special forces'_."

There were a few sparse chuckles throughout the line, but no one said anything else. They kept walking for another forty-five minutes before anyone else spoke.

"Visual contact with target building, hold position." Golsan warned. Jake could see a small town ahead from the peak of the sand dune they stood on. The streets were full of car wrecks, rust and erosion taking their toll on the town. Buildings were weathered and crumbling, while distant howls and roars signalled that some collection of hungry predators made their home here. Jake just hoped that whatever they were, there wouldn't be too many of them to deal with.

"No hostiles in sight, but I don't like the sound of those howls. The sooner we get to the objective, the better." Golsan observed. "I suggest we sprint it."

"Hang on." Jake ordered, making his way towards Palmer's position. He was crouching behind the peak of the sand dune, peeking over with the scope of his rifle to get a better view of the area. The rest of Bandit were hanging back a couple of metres, squatting next to pieces of debris that had somehow made it all the way over to them from the buildings.

"Plenty of cars for cover, but they don't exactly look sturdy." Golsan told Jake once he was crouching next to him. "Not much else though."

"Mhm," He muttered. "This is a perfect vantage point, mind you." Jake thought out loud. "Does anyone want to volunteer to hang back and provide us with some overwatch. Any takers?"

Palmer nodded in agreement, but didn't volunteer to stay behind. No one said anything, and Jake sighed at their collective lack of enthusiasm.

"Fine. Breaker, stay here. You're a better shot than most of us, so I want you to watch our backs and call out targets. Don't engage until I say so, got it?"

"Understood. Consider me your rear-guard."

"All right, good. Castillo, Lockett - you two go first. Golsan and I will move three seconds after, don't stop moving. Call out targets and stay with your partner. All copy?"

Everyone else agreed to the plan.

"Go." Jake ordered once everyone was in position.

Alan sprinted ahead with Desmond running right beside him. Jake counted before giving the sign for Palmer to follow. They moved as fast as they could whilst hunching low to the ground and skirting along the skeletons of the cars. About two-hundred feet away from the target building, there was a single roar high above them and to the left. Jake cast a glance up to the rooftops, but Breaker's voice was already in his ear.

" _Enemy spotted, high and left, it's alone. Requesting permission to engage."_

The creature stood on two hind legs, and was identical to the one they'd taken out before. It was roughly six-feet tall standing on its rear legs, an image that reminded Jake of a canine begging for a treat. Its maw was aimed to the sky, and it whooped several bestial calls, receiving answering roars all over the town.

"Denied, don't shoot it." Jake answered almost immediately. "It's probably a sentry for the whole pack, now that it's seen us, we'll be hunted. Don't reveal your position until you have to, you'll be easier prey to them, and I don't intend to lose a squad-mate on my first field operation."

" _Good point."_ Breaker admitted.

"If you really need to start shooting, make sure you're in cover or you have your Titan close by. Rendezvous on my position once we retrieve the objective. Keep an eye out for the flying predators too."

"It's almost like this planet was abandoned for a reason, Jake." Castillo spoke up. "Maybe because everything here wants to kill us all the time?"

"Shut it, Alan. Get moving."

They left their cautious approach to the objective behind as more and more of the quadruped aliens appeared on the edges of the rooftops and began pouring into the street, bounding over the car wrecks as if they weren't even there, much less an obstacle to them. Seeing this, Bandit quickly adopted a new desperate dead man's sprint. And so, the last hundred metres were spent hurtling towards the large doors of the science centre. They had almost made it to their destination when Jake felt the jaws of one of the animals close up around his calf muscle. His stomach turned in dread as he was dragged backwards by the slavering jaws of the alien predator. He yelled for help, but the sound was stolen from his throat as he was torn off his feet and fell flat onto the ground.

Jake grunted in pain, and quickly turned on the spot so his back was to the ground. He realised with dread that one of the creatures at the head of the pack was dragging him towards the others, who were quickly catching up to their unwilling meal.

"Oh, fuck." Jake said simply, firing a burst of gunfire at the alien's head at point-blank range. The barrage of ammunition reduced its skull to little more than paste within a heartbeat, but another of the creatures was on him in a moment, pinning Jake to the ground as he attempted to stand. The force of the impact cracked his visor as the beast lowered its fang-filled maw towards Jake's head.

Hearing the commotion, the fleeing members of Bandit spun on their heel and took a knee, unleashing a combined torrent of bullets at the oncoming tide of quadrupeds. Rounds flew as their collective gunfire granted a momentary reprieve from the charging aliens, and embedded into the thing holding Jake to the ground, making it howl in pain and retreat for a few moments. Lincoln took the opportunity and struggled to his feet, back-pedalling with a severe limp as he added his own gunfire to the fray. He grimaced, hating the feeling of his blood running down his leg and soaking his trousers, the material sticking to his gory skin.

It didn't take long for the animals to get the message that none of the Pilots would be their meals today, and only after almost half of their pack had been gunned down or turned into something barely recognisable as the aliens they'd been moments before.

After a few seconds, someone came to Jake's side and put his right arm over their shoulder, supporting his weight as he limped towards the objective. Jake looked over to see Desmond huddled up to him, pulling him closer to the science centre and was thankful for his aid as the two of them caught up to the rest of Bandit, who were still scanning the area dutifully with their rifles.

"How you doing, Ace?" Golsan asked when he and Spectre were close enough to hear.

"I've been better, mate." Jake grimaced. "That oversized mongrel got me good, bit clean through the armour."

"Damn." Golsan whistled a high note. "That stuff's meant to block bullets."

"So those jaws must have some real power behind them." Desmond agreed, taking Jake's arm off of his shoulder to put him against a wrecked vehicle. "You're lucky you didn't lose your whole leg to that thing, Jake."

Jake swallowed nervously at the prospect of such a savage amputation. He liked his legs. He didn't want them to be eaten, and he _especially_ wouldn't want a peg-leg replacement for it.

"It's a shame, really." Alan chuckled. "Maybe they've got a taste for you now; I guess we'll never know."

Jake just sighed, too tired from his rush of adrenaline to rise to Castillo's verbal bait. Frankly, his leg hurt too much. He leant against the frame of a wrecked semi-truck and lifted his leg at the knee, looking at the slowly spreading scarlet soak into his armoured trousers, which now had several large puncture wounds tearing the brown fabric. His visor was cracked too, and his heads-up display suffered for it, flickering and juddering every few seconds.

"Someone hand me some bio-foam, I need to clog these holes. We need to get moving, my oxygen reserves are depleting faster than it should." Jake told the four men.

Just as Golsan started handing him the hand-held canister of the fast-acting sedative cream, John's voice crackled on their shared frequency.

" _Watch the skies, Bandit. Bogey incoming."_ He warned.

All thoughts of his wounded leg disappeared as Bandit raised their weapons and took a knee, searching the pale blue sky for signs of the incoming hostile. The movement was fluid and practiced, and Jake took a moment to relish how well trained his team were.

"Contact!" Desmond announced. "Two o'clock, high."

All guns trained themselves to the specified region, and Jake's heart sank. Almost a dozen Flyers were soaring towards them, braying and yipping in the distance – a hunting call. It was too late to hide; they'd already been spotted by the monsters.

"Run for it, small arms fire doesn't do jack-shit against their skin."

As one, the five of them turned and sprinted towards the science centre. Jake panted hard as he struggled to keep up with the others, the pain only intensifying in his calf muscle.

"Breaker, forget the old plan! Find cover! I don't want anyone on my team becoming a snack for those bastards." Jake ordered between harsh breaths.

About half a minute of Golsan and Desmond taking turns diving behind cover and taking quick potshots at the Flyers, Breaker finally checked in.

 _"Found a spot."_ He informed them all.

"Good, stay there." Jake replied. "Don't get spotted. We'll radio you when we're done, then rendezvous with us in your Titan."

" _Solid copy, Ace."_

The rest of the squad pressed on, getting closer and closer. They reached the entrance to the building, an old wooden great door. It was crumbling and looked ready to crack in half with the amount of rot in the varnished brown wood, but that didn't stop Golsan, who reached the entrance first, from taking a step back and kicking the door in with incredible force. The wood exploded off its hinges and soon the entirety of Bandit was inside where the alien creatures' massive bodies couldn't reach them.

Like a well-oiled machine, Palmer and Castillo didn't forget their training and checked their corners as they arrived into the building. The two men disappeared inside the connecting corridors and were quickly followed by Jake and Spectre, weapons high and ready for any surprises. It took all of thirty seconds for the ground floor of the building to be declared clear.

"On to the next one," Jake immediately ordered. "Go, go, go."

"Clear." Desmond announced, breaching the first of the other rooms on the ground floor.

"Clear!" Golsan echoed.

"Let's move up and get this over with." Jake nodded once he was satisfied they were safe.

The men flashed by him before climbing the flight of stairs three at a time. Palmer switched from aiming up to aiming down, while Desmond and Castillo ran up to the third floor. Jake moved up at a calmer pace, actually taking the steps one by one. Partly because of his leg, but mostly because he trusted his team to do their jobs. By the time he reached the top floor of the three-storey building, the other members of Bandit had already cleared their sides of the structure.

"Clear. No sign of those IMC soldiers." Golsan finally declared after doing a thorough check on the last floor.

"Good, hold position." Jake stated. "Keep an eye out while I treat this leg."

The rest of the team nodded their affirmation and looked around the corridor and staircase diligently, keeping their rifles half-raised and ready. After settling, Castillo took up station at a nearby window, its panes cracked, smashed or missing altogether. He kept a sharp eye out for any returning creatures, four-legged or otherwise.

"That was exciting." The marksman spoke in a flat tone after he had taken in the surrounding area outside the building.

Jake grunted with laughter as he shook the canister of bio-foam like a spray-can. "If that's your idea of exciting, you need a new hobby, mate."

He nodded and didn't reply. Desmond looked at Jake and shrugged. Lincoln refocused and lined the nozzle of the bio-foam with his blood-soaked armour-pad, spraying the cream into the punctures in his armour that his blood was steadily streaming from.

It took a minute, but after Jake had seen to the injury, he stood. He gingerly tested his weight on the limb and found that there was only a dull pain there. He smiled and ordered his quad to return to the ground floor. Their intel suggested that the objective would be underground in a basement or cellar of some kind. Bandit fanned out, searching for a way to descend. Eventually, Castillo discovered a staircase behind a locked door that had been kicked open. Scope called the rest of Bandit over to him, and they proceeded slowly down the flights of steps. They went down, and down, and down.

After ten minutes of descending, Jake lost contact with the surface. His radio didn't work on any bandwidth, so he had no idea whether or not they were being followed or if anyone was trying to hail them.

Then, they started to find bodies.

Desmond saw the first one, as he was on-point. Jake was lagging behind because of his leg, but was otherwise fine. Desmond knelt near the body and did a quick check for signs of life or cause of death. It was the corpse of an IMC soldier. As for the cause of death, it became pretty clear that he'd had been hit right in the chest by a shotgun slug. He was missing a large portion of his torso and the floor around him was slathered with drying blood and bits of gore. He had a stunned expression on his face, as if he hadn't expected his own death.

"Damn," Castillo whistled. "Someone really did a number on this guy."

"We've seen worse," Desmond reminded him grimly. Jake decided to ignore the two of them.

"It's recent." Golsan suddenly said, his voice level and slow.

"What?" Desmond asked, apparently not hearing his gentle tone.

"This guy hasn't been dead for very long. Look." He pointed at the man's face, still etched in surprise and pain. "No decomposition." Golsan bent down further and dipped a finger into the dead man's blood. "And this hasn't completely dried yet, there's not much coagulation. We're not alone, sir. Whatever killed this guy, it's probably not a friendly. We should be careful."

"These guys weren't, and just look what happened to them." Castillo added.

Jake nodded. "Understood. Desmond, get back up to the surface. Get into radio contact with John and warn him that we aren't the only people down here. Then, come back. We don't know what we're dealing with yet. I don't want to stay split up for too long."

"Yeah, in those old horror films, the first one to split up from the group always ends up getting _murdered_." Castillo chuckled evilly.

"Don't listen to him, Des, I trust you with this." When he nodded at Jake confidently and started ascending the stairs again, Lincoln signalled for Golsan and Castillo to start moving down the stairwell again, this time being a lot more alert and ready for an ambush.

After reaching the bottom of the staircase, they found a row of three elevators. One of them was missing the carriage within. Another was constantly closing and opening on the body of another IMC soldier, his upper body blocking the door from fully closing, again and again. But the third seemed to be in fine working order. However, Jake was more than a little uneasy seeing the pool of blood splatters and bullet holes on the back wall of the carriage. After the trio were inside, Jake clicked the button on the elevator and held his breath, only releasing it after the button flickered and lit up. All three Pilots waited a minute for the elevator to reach the bottom of the elevator shaft. The doors opened to reveal a dark hallway. They were deep underground by now. One light flickered halfway down the hall, but everything else was pretty dark. The blackness was intermittently illuminated by their torches fitted underneath their weapon barrels.

"Eyes up." Jake ordered. "There's no cover, so don't hold back."

Jake stepped over the body of another soldier and walked slowly along the corridor, Castillo and Golsan to either side of him, their rifles held up and ready to blast through anything that moved. The entire length of the hallway was littered with blood, bullet-casings and corpses. Bullet holes aplenty pock-marked the walls. No other bodies anywhere to be seen. Whoever had done this hadn't been slowed by the thirty or so men that were now cold bodies on the floor.

"Damn." Golsan muttered. "One helluva last stand."

"Still wasn't enough to save them, though." Castillo corrected.

They kept on walking slowly, the beams of light from their flashlights barely doing anything to light up the surroundings. The rest of the hallway was clear and secure. There was nothing of interest except for the corpses carpeting it.

"Let's move along," Jake ordered, keeping his eyes forward. "We still have a mission to finish."

They walked the rest of the hallway with their rifles raised and ready for an attack. Whatever had killed so many men could be a threat to the three Pilots. There was only one door at the end. It looked like the heavy and secure kind of bulkheads that were frequently used on the _Sparrow_ or _Leonidas_. The terminal on its side was still intact, although scorch marks had hit the wall near it. Jake tapped the 'open' button.

 _"Please identify yourself."_ A pleasant robotic female voice requested. He cleared his throat.

"Spades? Would you mind?"

 _"Of course, Pilot. Please hold…"_

"I usually have to," He muttered.

There was a moment of quiet, before the keypad beeped and flashed a small green light.

" _Success."_ Spades informed his Pilot, who smiled in silent thanks.

 _"Identity confirmed. Welcome, Gunnery-Sergeant Adams."_

"Who?" Castillo asked.

"I don't know. Probably the last person to use the system normally. At least we're in." Jake scorned.

The doors opened to reveal a big room with lab equipment and several terminals. It looked pretty much like any civilian laboratory would've looked, although Jake knew that the computers here housed information much more critical than the average home terminal's browser history. The room was otherwise empty save for one individual, furiously tapping away at a computer terminal. Jake and the other two Pilots immediately levelled their weapons at the woman.

"Identify yourself!" He called out.

The woman stopped typing, turned and looked up at Jake. For some reason, her gaze made Lincoln feel uncomfortable, as if her eyes could somehow look through his visor and into his soul.

"Finally, I was beginning to think that they'd leave me here to die. You're my escort, I take it?"

She took a confident step towards the three of them, and Castillo immediately fired a round near her feet as a warning shot. She stayed still after that.

"Identify yourself. _Now_." Jake repeated.

"Rhian Kinley, not that it's any of your business. I'm the Intelligence Operative you were sent to retrieve?"

Jake tightened his grip on his SMG, shaking his head.

"I wasn't told anything about escort duty." He clarified. "In fact, we were sent here for _that_." He nodded at the Ice-Pick prototype in her hand.

"Well, you know what they say; _finders-keepers_." She smiled.

"Did you murder those soldiers back there?" Golsan asked, his tone seemed to accuse her of it before she'd even told him. It was harsh and angry.

"Oh, dear. Such a nasty word. No, of course I didn't murder them. They were just... in my way."

Castillo leant over and whispered into Jake's ear. "I like her."

"Shut it, Alan." Ace turned his attention back to her. "You're coming with us. Sarah will want answers from you."

"She's the one who sent me here."

"What?" Jake asked, astonished that the Commander wouldn't tell him about Rhian.

"But you make it sound like I'm under arrest, Pilot." She continued, completely ignoring his question. "We're on the same side, you know?"

"I'm not so sure. Why don't I know why you're here?"

"You do, Pilot. I just told you, didn't I? Briggs sent me. It seems I'm here for the same reason as you. For _this_." She held up the Ice-Pick with a smug smile playing on her lips. Her hazel eyes seemed to dare Jake to challenge her on the matter, but he refused to give her the satisfaction.

"We don't have time for this." Jake told her. "Did you get everything we could use from this place?"

"Of course, I wiped whatever we couldn't use. It's all in here." She held up a Titan OS Chip.

"How do you have one of those?" Jake asked, bemused. "You're not a Pilot, are you?"

She laughed at that. As though he'd said the stupidest thing she'd ever heard.

"Like you said, Pilot; we don't have time for this." She tutted. "Come on, the clock's ticking. Let's go."

Jake huffed and watched as she pushed past him as began towards the elevator, nimbly stepping over the corpses of the men she'd killed not long ago. Jake looked at his two squad-mates before running after her, falling into step easily with the petite woman. Together, they ascended the stairs and re-united with Desmond and John, who had apparently seen fit to leave his hiding place and rendezvous with Lockett. Jake could only assume that meant that the flying lizards had passed over for now.

"Who's this?" They asked, when the four soldiers emerged from the staircase and into the lobby.

"I'll tell you later." Jake urged, not willing to waste any more time. "Bish, we've retrieved the Ice-Pick. How are we looking? You good to send down that evac shuttle for us?"

" _No can do, Jake."_ Bish replied a moment later. _"The IMC arrived a few minutes ago in force. The_ Leonidas _is doing a good job of holding off their naval forces for now, but a few IMC landing craft slipped through. I'm sending you a waypoint. There's a Skirmish going on at the Boneyard not far from you. If you can help our boys there, we'll get you those evac shuttles, but I can't do that until you clear the area of anti-aircraft personnel."_

Jake acknowledged his new orders and told the rest of Bandit to call in for their Titans, which would be dropped from the Sparrow in low-orbit. He turned to Rhian.

"And what will you do?"

"I'll hop onto the back of your big lumbering robot and once we get to this 'Boneyard', I'll hop off. You don't need to worry about me." She teased.

"Believe me, I'm not." He clarified. "But I don't want you to leave without us. After we win, you come find me. Then, we'll go to Sarah together. I want answers." She saluted him mockingly. Jake felt his eyebrows furrow in annoyance. God, this woman was starting to get on his nerves with her ceaseless arrogance. "Spades. You ready to fall?"

" _Affirmative. Please designate a landing zone."_

Jake painted the target with his helmet-mounted laser, and waited for confirmation of the imminent drop.

" _Request approved. Stand-by for Titanfall."_

"God, I'll never get tired of hearing that..." He smiled. Moments later, his new Atlas, courtesy of a chassis they'd found in the Argonaut's drop bay, slammed into the sandy ground after free-falling for several seconds. It was soon joined by four other Titans, two more Atlas-class behemoths, as well as an Ogre and a single Stryder. As Jake clambered into the cock-pit of his Atlas, his radio crackled to life again.

" _Jake. It's Bish. Militia reinforcements just arrived. Get to the Boneyard, now! The other Pilot squads just arrived, but we need every possible edge we can get."_

"Copy that, mate." He confirmed, hearing Rhian's footsteps clang on his hull. He heard two swift pats against his door a moment after. Apparently, she was ready to go. "And, just quickly..."

" _What is it, Jake?"_

"Do you know anything about an intelligence operative that was meant to be on this mission, a certain 'Rhian Kinley'?" He asked, hoping that the Asian man would be honest with him.

There was a long moment of silence, and when Bish eventually spoke, his tone seemed nervous and hesitant to Jake.

" _Uh, no. Never heard of her. Ask Sarah."_ After finishing his short reply, Bish abruptly cut the channel.

Jake grunted in annoyance and swore once as Bandit fell into step, heading towards their new objective, seven miles away. They'd arrive in less than twenty minutes if they kept up their pace.

 **Reviews:**

Mac Gustah

Here I was playing video games when all of the sudden my phone buzzed with the tell-tale sound of a notification. What could it be? A text? A new YouTube video or episode on Netflix? An email? I looked at my phone while dealing with an alien menace in Stellaris and noticed it was indeed an email. One from fanfiction nonetheless. I tapped the email and my heart skipped a beat. Nice to have you back!

So Vlad's back up, which is nice. He won't be commanding in the field anymore, but who cares, he's got a kickass spaceship now. Leonidas to be precise. And his withdrawal and talk with Desmond (kudos on him for taking responsibility for his actions) has given Lincoln a great career opportunity! Who better to take his place than the guy who stole the ship, right? A new character makes her introduction as well, looking forward to see where that goes. Also looking forward to see Spades back in uniform next chapter. I'm sure he'll be a spiffy as always.

I play on pc, sadly, so we won't be able to play together, but now you've got me itching to do so. Looking forward to the next chapter (of this, but also of Banners of Hatred)!

Ave,  
Macsimus Gustahvius

 **I seem to be doing a lot of apologising when it comes to these reviews, so I'll try to stop doing that. But I am sorry that this took a couple of months to send out to you. I'm trying to split my efforts between this story and my Skyrim one, but seeing as this one is much closer to completion that the latter, I'll be focusing a little more on this one in the New Year. Thanks for your continuing support, Gustah, and I'm sorry to hear that we won't be able to play together; you seem like a cool guy. You'll be seeing plenty of Spades in the next update, as Bandit will have to fight their way off the planet. So, still lots to come.**

Guest

Hey glad to see you aren't dead, I stopped checking in on this story a month ago and then I see a update and I'm like, since when did my eyes get so messed up bad but I'm glad you're back good first chapter coming back into it now I can't wait for next one.

 **I'm glad to not be dead, haha. I'm happy you liked the last chapter, and I hope you like this one just as much.**

Crookedreader

You didn't fail to disappoint with the twists as well as a cliffhanger with the new character

 **I do try my best, Crooked. Thanks for the appreciation. I hope the character delivered a little in this chapter as well (it is the same person), and you'll be seeing more of Rhian in the coming chapters. It's gonna be a lot of fun…**

Guest

I've been rereading this story recently and it has been a blast!

 **Thank you very much for sticing with me and waiting for the next chapter. It's a good idea to re-read a few chapters to get caught up with what's happening in the next update.**

Guest

Goodness this fic is very good

 **Well, thank you very much. Very kind of you to say so.**

Fookinlazersight

A big fooking hole coming right up

 **Ahh, I see you caught my little easter egg. There are quite a few sprinkled throughout the entire story. And there's usually at keast one in every chapter. See if you can spot them all!**


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